


Like Mother, Like Son

by Wolves_of_Innistrad



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergent after 3a, F/M, Futurefic, Happy Ending, Illness, M/M, No seriously so freaking canon divergent, Sad, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Slow Burn, cora is good sister, derek is angry, everyone texts stiles, like nothing of 3b happened nope, pre slash, scott is distraught, stiles is in hiding, terminal illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-06
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 15:32:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 23,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1033344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolves_of_Innistrad/pseuds/Wolves_of_Innistrad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The gang texts Stiles while they believe he has went away for college.  What will happen when Derek finds out he's somewhere else entirely?  And what will Derek do with that information?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Are You There Stiles? It's Us, Your Pack

**Scott** : Hey Stiles, are u ok?  U smelled off last time I saw you…

_Sent: 9:14 pm Aug, 21_

 

 **Scott:** Hey Stiles, how’s college?

_Sent: 11:21 am Aug 23_

 

 **Scott:** Stiles, Allison and I finally got back together!

 **Scott:** Can you believe it?

 **Scott:** I’m so happy!

 **Scott:** Stiles?

_Sent: 4:45 pm Aug 30_

 

 **Scott:** So what?  You go to college and suddenly you can’t talk to your best friend?

_Sent: 3:10 pm Sept 2_

 

 **Scott:** Stiles what’s wrong?  Why ru acting like this?

_Sent: 12:25 pm Sept 3_

 

 **Scott** : Please…

 **Scott:**   Stiles.

 **Scott:**   Stiles I’m worried.

_Sent: 1:59 am Sept 5_

 

 **Scott** : FUCK YOU STILES!

 **Scott** : ALL THESE YERS OF FRIENDSHIP SND THIA I THE THANKS I GET?!?

_Sent: 9:18 pm Sept 8_

 

 **Allison:** Stiles, please answer Scott…

_Sent: 9:20 pm Sept 8_

 

 **Lydia:** Stiles, please answer your friend so he can stop bothering us all…

 **Lydia** : MIT is very challenging btw, not that you asked or anything.

_Sent: 9:24 pm Sept 8_

 

 **Scott:**   Stiles… Stiles please, I’m so sorry, just answer me please…

 **Scott:** Whatever I did, or didn’t do, I’m sorry, I’ll make it up to you.

 **Scott:**   Just please answer me Stiles, you’re my best friend…

_Sent: 10:11 pm Sept 8_

 

 **Isaac:** Stop being a dick and answer us Stiles.

_Sent: 1:37 am Sept 9_

 

 **Allison:**   I hope you’re happy Stiles!

 **Allison:**   Scott has been a mess all week because of you.

_Sent: 5:55 pm Sept 12_

 

 **Jackson** : I’m only doing this so Lydia will stop bugging me.

 **Jackson:** Get your head out of your ass and call Scott, Stilinski!

_Sent: 7:42 am Sept 19_

 

 **Scott:**   Please for the love of God Stiles, call me?!  Text, something?

_Sent: 1:38 pm Sept 26_

 

 **Derek:**   I cannot believe I’m doing this.

 **Derek:** Stupid “True Alpha”

 **Derek:**   Stiles, will you please call Scott, he is worried…

_Sent: 7:11 pm Sept 29_

 

 **Derek:** Call Scott

_Sent: 9:15 pm Oct 6_

 

 **Derek:** Call Scott

_Sent: 8:19 pm Oct 11_

 

 **Derek:** CALL SCOTT ALREADY!!!

_Sent: 7:24 pm Oct 18_

 

 **Cora:** Why is Derek screaming about you again?

 **Cora:** Why can’t you just let them know you’re ok?

 **Cora:** Stiles, come on.

_Sent: 7:28 pm Oct 18_

 

 **Derek** : IF YOU DON’T CALL SCOTT I’LL COME DOWN THERE AND RI-

 **Derek:**   -P YOUR THROAT OUT WITH MY TEETH!

_Sent: 7:49 pm Oct 18_

 

 **Scott:**   I miss you…

_Sent: 2:53 pm Oct 19_

 

 **Scott:** Goodbye, I guess.

_Sent: 8:33 pm Oct 20_

 

 **Dad:**   The doctors say they can start the treatment tomorrow morning kiddo

 **Dad:** I love you.  You’re going to be ok…

 **Dad:** I’ll be there by the time it’s over.

 **Dad** : I love you so much Stiles…

_Sent: 10:01 pm Oct 22_

 

 **Derek** : Stiles…

_Sent: 10:02 pm Oct 22_

 

                                                                                                         **To: Derek Hale**

                                                                                                       **Stiles** : Thanks Dad.  I love you too.  I’m sure it’ll be ok.

                                                                                                        **Stiles:** They say I have a good chance of beating it

                                                                                                        **Stiles** : Since they found it soon.  I’ll be ok.

                                                                                                        **Stiles** : But it’ll be nice to see you when I’m sick after.

                                                                                                         **Stiles:** Love you too…

_Sent: 10:04 pm Oct 22_

 

                                                                                                       **Stiles** : SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT!!!!!

                                                                                                       **Stiles:** IGNORE EVERYTHING YOU JUST READ DEREK!

                                                                                                       **Stiles:** DO NOT TELL ANYONE WHAT I JUST SAID

_Sent: 10:07 pm Oct 22_


	2. Oh The Earth, She Quakes

         The room blurs, black spots flashing across his field of vision.  Wood creaks as his feet stumble backwards; leather boots tripping over each other as the mountain of a man crumbles.  The shattering is what alerts him, brings him back to the land of the living.  Eyes scan quickly, heart racing, adrenaline pumping; tell-tale signs of a man used to running for his life.  Keen fight-or-flight instincts honed from years of struggle, yet still not enough when he needs them.  Today though, today it’s nothing.  But then again, it’s everything

        He scrambles for the phone, re-reading the letters through the cracks, like a kaleidoscope of his worst nightmares.  Derek isn’t stupid, even if people often think that.  He can put two and two together, but the answer he’s getting here isn’t four.  It’s unimaginable.  Never, not for any amount, would he have guessed it would be this.  The frail little boy, no, man now; brought down by not a werewolf, or a Darach or anything else supernatural, but by his own body.  His mother’s legacy through and through.  He thinks she’d much rather her boy have not taken after her so well.

        Frantic beeps and buzzes come through, mimicking Stiles’ hyperactive speech too well for a piece of near broken circuits and glass. 

                                                                                                                              **Stiles:** Derek… Please.  Please don’t tell anyone ok?

                                                                                                                              **Stiles:**  I f’ed up Derek, I never meant for you to know.

                                                                                                                              **Stiles** : I didn’t want anyone to know just…

                                                                                                                              **Stiles** : Don’t tell them.  Not yet…

_Sent: 10:08 pm Oct 22_

        His hands fumble with the keys.  He types the message once, twice, fifteen times, but never is it right.  Never can he express the roiling emotions, the inner turmoil he feels at this moment.  He sinks to the floor now, knees scuffing the hardwood they’d just put in the house.  Cora would be mad, yell at Derek to clean up his mess again.  But, how could he clean up this mess?  What could he do?

        A thought flashed before his mind, fleeting and illusory.  It would never work.  Stiles would never accept, not in a million years.  The boy was nothing if not stubborn.  He’d rebuffed Peter.  Of course, Derek had never asked, he’d never said no to him.  Then again, Derek no longer had the means to administer it anyway.  Scott could.  Scott, who Stiles forbade him to tell.  Oh how he loathed Scott some days, yet, on the whole, their relationship had developed.  He felt a kinship to the young Alpha, brought about mostly by Stiles own absence, causing Scott to slowly pull Derek in with him and the other wolves. 

        Fingers traced lazily over the screen, cuts healing almost as fast as they appear, blood slowly trickling down the side.  The marvels of engineering, how the liquids flow right off the face of it, slip back to the floor.  Congealed there, a pool of blood, and sweat and tears.

        Tears.  He hadn’t noticed it before.  Hands reaching up, tentatively mopping at the moisture.   He’d cried for them, cried for all of them.  His family, his pack, Boyd and Erica, even for Peter when he went.  But now, now he was crying for a life not yet lost.  Not yet lived.  Summoning up all his courage, he tapped out the words.  Terse, informal, because anything more would be unbearable, descend into the depths of despair he was desperately trying keep himself from falling into.

 **Derek:** What’s wrong Stiles?  What happened to you?

 **Derek** : Why are you in the hospital being treated for something?

_Sent: 10:15 pm Oct 22_

       Then, scanning the response, his hypothesis proved true…

                                                                                                                                **Stiles:**   I don’t…

                                                                                                                               **Stiles** :  If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone

                                                                                                                               **Stiles:** Especially Scott

                                                                                                                               **Stiles:** Apparently I take after my mother they...

_Sent: 10:19 pm Oct 22_

 

                                                                                                                               **Stiles** : They found it right after I left for college

                                                                                                                               **Stiles** : I’ve been in the hospital ever since

                                                                                                                               **Stiles** : I don’t want them to worry

_Sent: 10:23 pm Oct 22_

 

                                                                                                                               **Stiles:** The doctors say that, well

                                                                                                                               **Stiles:** That I have a good shot, since it’s early

                                                                                                                               **Stiles** : So please don’t say anything Derek

                                                                                                                               **Stiles** : Not yet...

_Sent: 10:25 pm Oct 22_

        His heart ached, a familiar feeling he knew well, but never, until today, associated with the boy with the manic mouth.  The impish, petulant, headstrong, tenacious, funny, kind, caring boy he’d never thought twice about.  Until today.  Until the thought of never seeing him again.  Never hearing him spout his inane facts or annoy Derek to no end, until that all could be gone.  And everything changed that night.  The night he realized he loved Stiles Stilinski.  And that the man he loved was dying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had planned this to be super short. Just the two chapters and then done. However, Derek ran away with his chapter so now, yeah... Maybe a few more than I thought.


	3. Leave The Window Open

**Derek** : Stiles, where are you?

_Sent: 11:01 pm Oct 22_

                                                                                                               **Stiles:** I can’t tell you that Derek

                                                                                                               **Stiles:** Can’t risk you telling everyone where I am.

_Sent: 11:04 pm Oct 22_

          It stings.  Knowing that after all they’ve been through, how they’d even gotten along a little bit before he left, that Stiles doesn’t trust Derek.  Then again, Derek honestly isn’t sure what to do.  He feels as if he should tell Scott, warn the others about this impending crisis.  Alas, Stiles doesn’t want him too, and who is he to refuse the wishes of a dying man?

         Sleep is fitful.  Sheets strewn about haphazardly, soaked in sweat and pillowcases bearing the distinct mark of tears.  He wouldn’t have done it.  Wouldn’t have even tried to sleep at a time like this, but he knew he would have a long day tomorrow.  One filled with nervous glances at his phone, wondering how Stiles was, what the treatment was.

         Eyes bleary and showing signs of sleep deprivation, he awakens, feet padding quietly towards the bathroom.  The man in the mirror, a reflection of what he is, looks unfamiliar.  Haggard and worn, beaten down by life.  None of these looks are new for Derek, for a while they were his signature.  Things had been different lately though.  Cora and he had moved back into the Hale mansion, slowly rebuilding it.  The pack was getting stronger, and, despite the Nemeton’s power, they’d suffered few attacks in recent months.

         As he splashed water on his face, cold droplets dripping down through three-day old stubble, he contemplated his options.  Telling the others outright was not possible.  It was against Stiles wishes and they couldn’t do anything anyway.   Subterfuge was his only resort.  He wasn’t sure how to find Stiles, but he had an idea who might.  First though, he needed to know more about what Stiles had.

**Derek** : What did Stiles’ mother die of?

_Sent: 3:45 am Oct 23_

                                                                                                                **Scott:** Wtf Derek

                                                                                                             **Scott:** It’s nearly four am!

                                                                                                               **Scott:** And I don’t really want to talk about Stiles rn

                                                                                                            **Scott:** Besides, why do you want to know that?

_Sent: 3:48 am Oct 23_

**Derek:** Whatever Scott

_Sent: 3:49 am Oct 23_

         At dawn’s first light, pale pink streaks parting the sky, Derek leaves.  He’s only heard the address once, but he remembers where it is.  Ethan talks about him enough.  The window is unlatched, bringing back memories of him doing the same thing in Stiles’ room.  As he takes a step in, the man stirs.

         “Ethan…?” Danny mumbles, groggy and eyes filled with sleep.

         “No.” Derek huffs, gruff voice only deepened by his own exhaustion.

         “M-miguel?”

         “Miguel?” Derek replies, confused.  Then his mind clicks, rewinds to their first meeting and understands.  “No, Derek Hale.  I’m in Scott and Ethan’s pack.”

         “What are you doing here?” Danny answers, rubbing his eyes, feet dangling over the side of the bed as he adjusts his pajama bottoms.

         “I need your help.  I need to track a phone, can you do that?”

         “Well, yeah,” he scoffs, bemused.  “But why would I do that for you? I barely know you.”

         “Because it’s in the pack’s best interest, and I’m sure you don’t want anything to happen to them.”

         “Fine, what’s the number?” Danny responds, shuffling over to his laptop and cracking it open.  His nimble fingers stroke the keys, deftly finding their place, the old tricks and loopholes he’s known for so long.  “Wait, isn’t this?”

         “What?”

         “This is someone I know.  I recognize this number…”

         “Nevermind that, can you find it?”

         “Not until you tell me who you’re tracking.”

         “I can’t,” Derek replies, a pained expression on his face.

         “Well I’m sorry, but I’m not risking jail time for someone I barely know when they won’t even tell me who we’re looking for…” Danny says, turning to find Derek already gone.  “Weirdo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh! Thank you all, my Wonderful Readers, for all the comments, kudos and subscriptions! It really means a lot and inspires me to write more. I hope you enjoy this chapter, not as much drama, but we'll have some in the next chapter, dun dun dun!
> 
> As always, you can come bother me at wolvesofinnistrad.tumblr.com


	4. Diner Dialogue

          Gravel crunches underfoot, each step echoing loudly in the silent morning air.  Derek’s first option has fell through.  What can he do at this juncture?  Without Danny’s help, how can he find Stiles?  Then he remembers, Stiles was talking to his father in the text he sent.  And he mentioned that he’d see his father later in the day, which seemed, to Derek at least, to imply the Sheriff was driving up to see Stiles.

         He doesn’t realize he’s shifted until he can smell the sheriff from a block away.  Staying back, he runs on the side of the road, staying in the forest and watching.  He has to be leaving soon, but he stops at the station, likely finishing up any lingering duties.  Derek sprints back to his Camaro, fully restored again, and gets back just in time to catch Stiles’ father as he leaves.

         The hum of the motor reverberates in his ears, following behind the sheriff at a safe distance.  They get to the outskirts of town, close to the road leading to the highway, when the cruiser begins to slow down.   Derek slows to a crawl, not wanting to be caught, but soon realizes it’s no good.  Not only has the sheriff come to a complete stop, but he’s getting out of his car.  Keen werewolf senses catch the steady heartbeat, the familiar scent of Stiles.  He’s seen his son recently, enough that the particular smell hasn’t been eradicated.  He averts his gaze, staring down ar his boots as a knock comes at the window.  The glass squeaks as he rolls it down, looking, for all intents and purposes, like a caught out teenager.

         “Care to explain why you’re following me, son?” the sheriff asks, authoritative and calm.  Of course he knows who Derek is, but obviously hasn’t been informed that Stiles let his secret slip.

         Derek’s breath catches in his throat at being called son, for more than one reason, before he settles himself.  “I wasn’t following you sheriff, just minding my own business.”

         “Derek, I may not be a werewolf, but even I can spot a lie that poorly told,” the older man laughs, bending down to get at eye level with Derek.

         He gives up then, knows it’s useless to argue or try to lie his way out.  Besides, the sheriff is the only person who knows about Stiles anyway.  “Stiles accidentally texted me last night…”

         “What?” he asks, eyes crinkling up in surprise.

         “He thought he was texting you back, but he hit my number by mistake.  He, he told me what was going on.  At least, some of it.”  His voice is strained, he knows, but he hopes the sheriff, even with the famous Stilinski powers of observation, won’t understand why.

         “Shit!” he says, turning and slamming his hat into the ground.  Derek’s never really seen the sheriff that angry before, at least, not when someone wasn’t about to die.  Then again, that was the case now.

         “I’m sorry I just…” Derek trails off, not sure what to say.  He can’t tell him that he’s fallen in love with his son; that he was hoping to sneak up to Stiles room and convince him to come home, to meet with the others.

         “It’s, it’s fine Derek,” the sheriff sighs, rubbing his forehead before picking up his hat and dusting it off.  “Did you tell anyone else?”

         “No, never!” Derek near shouts, shaking his head emphatically.  “Stiles practically begged me not too.”

         “Well good.  Now, ugh, just, come on,” he says, air of resignation in his voice before turning on his heel, heading back to his car.  Derek isn’t quite sure what has happened, until he sees the sheriff signaling him to pull behind him.

**********

         They stop at a greasy spoon, diner filled to the brim with truckers and sad looking women.  Derek’s nose scrunches in disgust, pungent mixture of aromas threatening to make him heave.  He follows the sheriff inside, not sure why they’ve stopped.

         “Sir,” he begins, but is cut off, the sheriff motioning him to take a seat. They order, full breakfast for the sheriff, water and toast for Derek.  To be honest, he isn’t sure he could keep anything else down.

         “Now Derek, we need to set some ground rules,” Stiles’ father starts, gesturing with a crispy piece of bacon.  “I was against Stiles’ blocking out all his friends to begin with.  I, I’ve been through this before, and I know he needs someone besides just me.”  He glares at his eggs, as if stabbing them with the fork might magically cure Stiles.  “The boy’s headstrong, I reckon you know that.  You’re obviously not my first choice, considering your criminal record, but you’re the only person outside the family that knows.  I’m going to see him.  Only family is allowed today though.  Can you stay until tomorrow?  Come then?”

         Derek gulps, swallowing a bit of toast too fast.  He wasn’t prepared for the sheriff to give him access to Stiles, to be allowed to visit.  Snapping back, he nods at the man.  “Of course, I’ll get a hotel.  I understand this is a family matter I just…”  A million words cycle through his head, struggling to tumble out of his mouth in an incoherent jumble.  Instead, he settles on the simple truth.  “Stiles and I have never been the best of friends, but he’s helped me, my pack, a lot in the past.  I just, I don’t want him to think he’s alone.”

         The sheriff nods, spearing a sausage as he looks away.  Derek can’t see it, but smells the salty smell of tears.  By the time the sheriff turns back, his eyes are dry again.  “Thank you Derek.  Now, let’s get going.  We have a long drive ahead of us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, a somewhat longer chapter!  
> As always, thanks again to all my Wonderful Readers for all your comments, kudos and subscriptions! 
> 
> So, a POV change is coming up in the next chapter(s). Would you all rather see Stiles, or, in a twist, the sheriff? Let me know in the comments. 
> 
> You should come bug me to write more on Tumblr, or, you know, whatever haha  
> wolvesofinnistrad.tumblr.com


	5. Pater Familias

          The cold, sterile hospital swims before his eyes.  Acrid antiseptic smell flooding his nostrils, threatening to drown him.  The fluorescent lights flicker intermittently, only worsening his headache and further screwing up his vision.  He’d gotten to the door, just to the door, before stopping.

         Stiles was supine, elbow propped up as he turned to heave into a plastic bucket.  IVs snaking out of his arms like tendrils, leeching away his life with every moment.  He couldn’t remember him looking so small, so fragile; not for so long.  The sight conjured up old memories; long buried and purposefully ignored.

         He couldn’t do this.  Not again.  Dear God, not again.

         Claudia had looked the same at first.  Just sick, not awful.  Sick, under the weather, as if she’d be up and about in no time.  And maybe she was, depending on how you defined up. 

         He kept walking.  Strode right past the door to his son, continued down the hall and found a janitor’s closet.  Letting himself inside, he closed the door and sat in the dark, back pressed against the hard wooden door.  Drawing in shaky breaths, he tried to control his breathing, to stop crying and sobbing.  It felt like he was dying, as if the entire world was spinning and all the oxygen had decided to rush away from him as if it knew he would destroy it with a breath. 

         So this is what a panic attack is like, he thought to himself.  Finally understanding how his son had felt all those times.  Before, when it was Claudia in that bed, in that box, he’d drank.  Downed bottle after bottle until he barely knew who he was, much less who she was.  He still hates himself for it, for leaving Stiles alone, even if it was only a while.  It changed him, made Stiles into the man he was now.  Caring, worried, nervous and bright.  He’d had to be in order to take care of his father while he was drowning his sorrows in alcohol.

         Last time, when Stiles had told him, he’d cried.  Not a lot, enough for Stiles to know he cared, understood the gravity of the situation, but not enough to worry him.  That, that was saved for later, as Stiles slept in his room.  Framed photo of his wife and son cradled in his arms as he begged God not to take the boy too.  Not to leave him all alone.  How much hardship could one man take?  The thought of drinking again had come to him, slithered its way into his mind and fought for control, to be dealt with and appeased, but he did not let it prevail.

         If worse came to worse.  If his boy was going to leave him, join his mother; then he wanted to remember every day with him, spend every moment, clear-headed and lucid. 

         The spiral was beginning, if he didn’t catch himself soon, he’d never leave this barren closet, dank and cold, just like his heart felt.  Finally, he was shaken by a buzzing in his pocket.

                                                                                      **Hale** : How is he?

_Sent: 4:01 pm Oct 23_

         He stood up, fingers tapping awkwardly at the phone.  He’d never been good at texting, wasn’t sure why the kids liked it so much.  Right now though, he was happy to have something pull him out of his thoughts… and to not have to talk yet.

**Sheriff:**   Haven’t gotten in yet.  Just arrived.

_Sent: 4:03 pm Oct 23_

         Standing up, he brushed off the dust and grabbed a paper towel to dry his eyes.  Stiles would know, he always knew, but better to at least make an effort.  The doorknob was cold against his hand as it turned, opening to let him past as he turned back into the hallway.  Approaching from this direction, he turned right, poking his head in the room.

         There, looking happy and carefree, fiddling with his phone, lay Stiles.  The boy obviously didn’t know he’d seen him moments ago.  He’d done the same thing, cleaned himself up and put on a brave face, so he wouldn’t be worried.  Even now, when they both knew the stakes, knew what was going on, this façade remained in place.  It worked for them, at least, for now, so they let it be.  Besides, like father, like son.

         “Hey kiddo!  How ya’ feeling?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cried so hard writing this. Ugh, Stilinski family feels man. Also, first time writing from sheriff's point of view. 
> 
> Sorry it's another short one, but the emotions and me still not feeling great kept it short. 
> 
> FYI, the phone names are based on the contact of who's sending and receiving them. So While Stile's phone says Derek, Sheriff's has him as just Hale. And Derek in turn has him as sheriff.
> 
> Thank you as always Wonderful Readers, for all the comments, kudos and subs! I can't believe this already has more subs and almost as many hit as my very first, fairly long WIP on here. Crazy! Anyway, you should come say hi over at wolvesofinnistrad.tumblr.com


	6. Nurse Nancy Knows Nothing  (Except She Does)

          He could smell him from down the hall.  Well, that wasn’t entirely true.  The gently wafting scent of vanilla, and oak, had hinted at his nostrils since he’d entered the building.  Beckoning him forward to the man he loved.  As he got closer, it disturbingly became harder to catch it, mixing in with another, bitter smell.  Derek rubbed at his nose, hoping to clear the stench out, but it was slowly taking over, stifling in it’s power, and that’s when it clicked.  It was Stiles.  To be more specific, it was the specific smell of Stiles, sick… dying. 

         Shaking his head, he willed his senses to calm down, trying to focus on the others, channel his concentration into sounds and vision.  Everything around him sharpened, and he could hear the gentle thump-thump of Stiles’ heart.  Tracing it to its origin, he arrived outside the door, catching Stiles unaware.  At least, that’s what he thought at first.  Upon closer inspection, he realized Stiles was asleep.  Should have known by the too-steady rhythm.  The chair scraped awkwardly as he pulled it next to the bed. 

         Stiles lay motionless, arms akimbo, mouth sagging and drooling slightly.  He found it all adorable, and he mentally smacked himself for it.  Falling this fast was not good, but then, he knew that it really had been slow.  The actual process of starting to love Stiles had been glacial, imperceptible actually.  Or maybe he was just being willfully ignorant.  None of it mattered now though, he knew he cared for Stiles, and that was all he needed.  Taking a chance, he reached out a hand, and gently, ever so gently, gripped Stiles’ hand. 

         He heard it before Stiles even moved, almost felt the shift in his heartbeat, the stretch of his muscles.  In a flash his hand retracted, retreated like the ebbing tide, landing in the neutral zone of his lap.  Stiles, bleary eyed and drowsy, blinked at him, recognition only settling in after a few moments.

         “Derek?”

         “Yeah,” he answered, humongous smile threatening to engulf his face.

         “Quit smiling like that.  It’s creepy, Sourwolf,” Stiles replied, full of snark.

         That was the moment he knew.  Understood he’d do whatever it took to save Stiles, because Stiles was doing everything he could to fight this.  Snarky comments and sarcasm were his best weapons, and he was still armed and ready for battle.

         “Sorry,” he muttered weakly, hands wringing as he spoke.

         “Wait… what are you doing here?”  Stiles finally asked, barely raising up, just enough to be noticeable.

         “Came to see you.”

         “Well I see that.”

         “I meant, I wanted to see how you were.”

         “See, that’s an answer Derek.  Knew I’d get a straight one out of you one day.”

         Derek nearly coughed on that, internally cracking a smile at Stiles’ choice of words.

         “There’s that creepy ass smile again.”

         Ok, not so internally.

         “Sorry it’s just… nice to see you still in your element,”  Derek laughed, genuinely laughed.

         “Oh God, I’m dying for real aren’t I, the treatment failed!” Stiles rambled frantically.

         “What?  No, no not that I know of,” he stammered, worry swelling inside again.

         “Well, I must be dying if Derek freakin’ Hale is laughing at my jokes.”

         “Maybe you’ve just gotten funnier.”

         “Or maybe you’ve just begun to enjoy my always hilarious, but up until now unappreciated, humor.”

         “Yeah… maybe.  Seems I’m appreciating things a lot more lately.  Things I’d never thought I would.”

         “Me too…”

         They sat there like that, staring into each other’s eyes for a long time, not saying a word.  Werewolf hearing must not be what it used to be, because Derek doesn’t even hear the nurse until she’s standing right next to them.

         “Mr. Stilinski, time for your check-up,” she says brightly.

         Derek jumps straight up, posturing shooting from predatory and ready to strike to relaxed in an instant.  He’s working on it, but old instincts flare up unexpectedly. 

         “Cute,” she says, smirking like she’s discovered some amusing little secret.

         “I know I am,” Stiles answers dryly, never missing a beat.

         “I meant your boyfriend.”

         “I, what, no, he’s… and me?  No, You just, what?” Stiles splutters, turning red and looking from Derek to the nurse, flabbergasted.

         For his part, Derek turns a little red at the ears and just coughs, a simple little “We’re not, I mean, he’s just a friend,” thrown in under his breath.

         “Ok then,” she adds, lips curled into a knowing smile, before continuing her duties.  “Well, everything seems to be in order Mr. Stilinski.  Of course, we won’t know for a while whether the treatments are working, but you seem to at least be better than yesterday.”

         Stiles smiles up at her, rosy tint seeping out of him now. 

         “Thanks Nancy,” he shoots back.

         “You’re welcome Mr. Stilinski.  And it was nice to meet you, Mr…?”

         “Hale,” Derek huffs out, eager for her to leave.

         “Mr. Hale,” she repeats, smile bright and eyes looking between them, knowing glance stripping Derek bare.

         After she leaves, Derek resumes his position seated at Stiles’ bedside.  Their hands instinctively reach out to each other, but neither is willing to initiate the contact, leaving them in limbo.  A small grin splits Stiles’ lips and he begins to speak.

         “Boyfriends huh?” he says, a lilt to his voice.

         “What?”

         “Can you believe she thought you were my boyfriend?  Crazy right?”

         “Yeah, crazy…” Derek replies, looking down. 

         It’s too soon, he can’t make a move, not when Stiles is dying.  After.  When Stiles is well and they have more time, that’s what he tells himself.  Wills his mind to believe it will happen, even when all signs point to no.   His mother had once told him to follow his nose, but right now he didn’t want to.  The smell of decay was fresh, as oxymoronic as that sounded, and it wafted from Stiles with each change of the air.  The results may not be in, but if what his senses were telling him were right, Stiles wasn’t going to get better.  And there likely was much less time than they suspected.  The cruel realities of werewolf senses.

         “Crazy…” he repeated, words leaving a bitter taste on his tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they meet! I totally didn't mean to Johnlock them, but Nurse Nancy just barged in and forced me to do it. :)
> 
> No texts for once, shocker. :0 We did get some cutesy moments though, which I think we all needed after the Sheriff's emotional rollercoaster.
> 
> As always, thank you to all my Wonderful Readers out there for your kudos, subs and comments. It always encourages me to write more. It's kind of crazy that this lil' fic is about to surpass Performing Hearts, my first fic ever for the TW fandom and quite a bit longer. I imagine by the time most of you read this the hits will have already passed it. Thanks so much!
> 
> Also, I kind of want to participate in Rarepair November, so if any of you have ideas for things you might like to see, or pairings. Not for this work, but just in general, I could definitely be convinced to do some drabbles or one-shots.   
> You can come hit me up at wolvesofinnistrad.tumblr.com or comment here.


	7. Paging Dr. Hale, Paging Dr. Hale?

**Cora** : Derek, where are you?  You’ve been gone for days.

_Sent: 11:15 am, Oct 26_

                                                                                                                **Derek:**   Away

_Sent: 11:16 am, Oct 26_

**Cora** :  Derek!

**Cora** :  Don’t be a jerk.

_Sent: 11:18 am, Oct 26_

                                                                                                                **Derek** : I’m out of town.

                                                                                                              **Derek** : Back in a few days.

_Sent: 11:20 am, Oct 26_

**Cora:**   Fine, be a mysterious jerk like always.

_Sent:  11:27 am, Oct 26_

                                                                                                                **Derek:**   Tell Scott I’m gonna miss the Pack meeting.                                                                                                                                               _Sent: 11:30 am, Oct 26_

**Cora:** Whatever Derek…

_Sent:  11:34 am, Oct 26_

He’s thankful for the credit card he was finally able to get, otherwise he would have had to have Cora send him money from home.   As it is, he’s practically living off shitty hospital food and junk food he can get at the gift shop.  They won’t let him visit Stiles all day, and he knows that would be suspicious, so he skulks.  Some days he lurks in the shadows of the hospital, making trips upstairs near Stiles room, just close enough to catch his scent or hear his heartbeat, before retreating back into the shadows.  One day he “borrowed” a lab coat to avoid suspicion and almost ended up performing open heart surgery.  That was a lesson he learned quickly.

**Sheriff:**   Derek…

_Sent: 4:25 pm, Oct 26_

                                                                                                                **Hale:** Yes Sheriff?

_Sent: 4:25 pm, Oct 26_

**Sheriff:**   Where are you?

_Sent: 4:27 pm, Oct 26_

                                                                                                               **Hale** : In the motel…

_Sent: 4:27 pm, Oct 26_

**Sheriff:** Oh really?  Anything good on?

**Sheriff:** Who’s winning the game?

_Sent: 4:30 pm, Oct 26_

                                                                                                                **Hale:** Not really and the Packers.

_Sent: 4:31 pm, Oct 26_

**Sheriff:**   So that isn’t you

**Sheriff:** That’s been coming down the hallway

**Sheriff:** Every fifteen minutes?

_Sent: 4:33 pm, Oct 26_

                                                                                                                **Hale:** No…

_Sent: 4:34 pm, Oct 26_

**Sheriff:** Derek, it isn’t football season…

_Sent: 4:36 pm, Oct 26_

                                                                                                                **Hale:** Shit

_Sent: 4:36 pm, Oct 26_

**Sheriff:**   Why don’t you just come in?

**Sheriff:** I’m about to go for some coffee anyway

_Sent:  4:38 pm, Oct 26_

The floor squeaks slightly as Derek skids to a halt, attempting to play it cool and failing miserably.  He stands in the doorway, frame taking up most of the space and watches the Stilinski men sit in silence.

“Hrmf,” he coughs, to show he’s arrived.

“Derek,” the Sheriff begins, amused tone to his voice as he smiles at him.  “For a werewolf, you are the least sneaky person I’ve ever met."

“Hey, quiet about that!”

“Oh please, like anyone would believe me if I said it.”

“Guess you have a point.”  Derek shuffles his feet, boots scratching each other, tanned leather taut and worn.  “How is he?”

“Better, I think.  At least, he acts like he is, but Stiles has always been good at faking.”

“Yeah, he’s a regular Brando,” Derek snorts.

“More like Chaplin,” the Sheriff chimes in, smile bright and genuine, so very different from how he’s looked the last few days.  It’s so hopeful, Derek can’t bear to tell him that his werewolf senses are all telling him that Stiles isn’t getting better, and may even be getting worse.

 **********

They have dinner in the hospital cafeteria, Derek hunched over the meal as if it’s the only warm thing he’s ate in a week.  Which, in all honesty, it sort of is.  The only sound is the screech of chairs sliding over linoleum and trays hitting tables.  In silence, the two men finish their meals, both looking up at the other.

“Derek, why are you really here?” the Sheriff asks, polite yet interrogative, a learned ability Derek is sure.

“I told you, Stiles is pack.  I’m the only one who knows he’s here, I have to…” Derek trails off, really unsure what he wanted to say.

“You don’t have to D-“

“I want to!” he snaps, cutting the older man off.

“Fine, but you need to stop sneaking about.  He isn’t in any danger from the outside world.  A full security detail around the clock isn’t needed.”

“Fine, I’ll, I’ll cut back.”

“Thank you Derek,” he says, picking up his tray.  Stopping at the door, he says under his breath, only loud enough for Derek to hear across the room, “Really, thank you for looking after him.  He needs as much, er, support, as he can get right now.”

 

**Derek:**   I’m going to be gone longer than I expected

**Derek:**   I need you to put some money in my account

_Sent: 10:46 pm, Oct 26_

                                                                                                                **Cora** : What?

_Sent: 10:50 pm, Oct 26_

**Derek:**   Just do it Cora, please?

Sent: 10:54 pm, Oct 26

                                                                                                                **Cora:** Fine, how much?

_Sent: 10:57 pm, Oct 26_

**Derek** :  A couple thousand.

**Derek:**   I’m going to be here a while

_Sent: 11:01 pm, Oct 26_

                                                                                                                **Cora:** And where is “here” Derek?

_Sent: 11:05 pm, Oct 26_

**Derek** : I can’t say.

**Derek:**   But this is something I have to do.

_Sent:  11:09 pm, Oct 26_

                                                                                                                **Cora:** Ugh, you’re being as weird as Stiles

                                                                                                                **Cora** : Fine, be safe Derek.

_Sent: 11:15 pm, Oct 26_

**Derek:** It’s not me I’m worried about…

_Sent: 12:01 am, Oct 27_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of short chapter, but something. I wanted to get the Sheriff and Derek's relationship a little more in there again. More Stiles in the next chapter. 
> 
> Once again, thank you to all my Wonderful Readers for the comments, kudos and subs.
> 
> I might not update this for a couple days, because I'm really going to try to get a chapter up for "My Greatest Wish Is Now My Worst Nightmare" over the weekend.
> 
> As always, my tumblr is wolvesofinnistrad.tumblr.com


	8. Heartbeats

          The morning sun struggles to shine through the moldy curtains, casting awkward, pockmarked shadows around the otherwise darkened room.  The overstarched sheets crinkle as his body turns, Derek grimacing as the light invades his tightly shut eyes.  Blinking awake, his eyes scan the once unfamiliar room.  By now he’s begun to memorize every irritating feature, the litany of odd smells and weird textures.  It doesn’t help that the stench of sex and drugs coat his nose with each breath; moans and screams and television static his lullaby each night.  

          Blearily, he searches for his phone, hands scrabbling against the corrugated wood of the nightstand.   Finally he grasps it, pulling the cracked screen to his eyes, momentarily shielding them from the sun.  The tiny light flashes blue, indicating new messages.

 **Scott:**   Derek?  Where are you?

_Sent: 9:08 am, Oct 27_

          Before that two more show up, surprising Derek.  He’s never woken up to this many texts before.  Barring Stiles annoying him about research.

 **Cora:**   It’s done.  I put the money in.

_Sent: 8:57 am, Oct 27_

          His breath catches at the last one, seeing the sender’s name.

 **Stiles:**   Hey Derek…  Are you coming today?

_Sent: 7:21 am, Oct 27_

          Never has Derek gotten out of bed and dressed faster.  His fingers typed furiously as he tried to one-handedly put on his jeans.  He grabbed his jacket and sped out of the motel, not even bothering with the car, he’d be faster and meet less traffic on foot.  It was a struggle not to wolf out, blue seeping into his eyes when he checked the phone every once in a while.

                                                                                                                             **Sourwolf:** I’m on my way.

_Sent: 10:17 am, Oct 27_

          His chest heaved, tight grey Henley riding up and falling with each gasping breath.  Skidding to a halt near the bushes at the hospital, he took a moment to compose himself, not wanting to look frantic when he walked in.  Crossing the parking lot, he pulled up his wolf senses, trying to sense Stiles.   Nearing the doors, he balks, overwhelmed with a putrid smell.  It reeks when he tries to decipher Stiles scent, something so sweet it’s gone sour, and like gnarled, rotting trees.  He remembers a dying tree in the preserve, how on the full moon the whole family had retreated from it, repulsed by the smell.  But he was moving towards it now, wading deeper and deeper into its caress.

          It only intensifies, burning his nostrils and making his eyes water.  Every instinct in his body tells him to go back, turn away, run as far as he can from the smell, but he can’t even find Stiles under it.  He needs to see him, make sure he’s ok.  And that’s when it hits him, the moment he reaches the door, eyes locked on the pallid face before him, ears ringing with the sound of retching.  

          It’s Stiles.

          “Stiles…?” he asks, voice cracking a bit as his foot breaches the doorway, slowly pulling himself into the room.  All his senses are going haywire and he has to press his claws into his palm to fight them back.  

          The boy looks up, startled.  His skin almost as milky white as the pillows bundled under his side.  He tries to smile, however weakly, before his eyes bug out and he spins, shaved head buried in the little red bucket.  After a few moments he straightens up, long fingers coming up to wipe at his lips, missing a few flecks of sick. 

          “Stiles,” Derek whispers again, moving forward, feet heavy like wading through deep water.  He takes a seat on the opposite side of the boy.  Without even thinking, considering the consequences, his hand reaches out and entwines with the younger man’s.  They stay there like that, Stiles occasionally squeezing his hand hard right before he begins again.  It only takes a few minutes, but he gets it all out at some point, turning finally to look at Derek.

          His eyes look heavy lidded, gone is the spark resting behind them, the one Derek always saw but never thought about until recently.  “D-derek…” he croaks, voice raw and even raspier than normal.  He fumbles for a moment, hitting a button on the bed before glancing back up with a crooked smile.  “You came…”

          Derek wants to shout that of course he came, how could he leave Stiles when he’s like this, but he doesn’t.  Instead he just says, “Yeah, I did,” and leaves it at that.  They sit in silence for awhile, Derek’s arms a swirl of black tendrils underneath his shirt as he leeches away the pain, leaving a contented, but guilty, look on Stiles face.  

          “Th-thanks Derek, you… you didn’t have to use your w-“ Stiles begins to say, before eyeing Nurse Nancy out of the corner of his eye.  “I… I need another bucket, I’m sorry,” Stiles says, voice small and childlike.  

          Nancy gives them a once over, eyes stopping to linger on their clasped hands with a smirk.  “No problem dearie.  You feeling any better?” she asks, careful to keep the red container away from them both, even if that does little to suppress the smell to Derek’s keen senses.

          Stiles starts to shake his head, before thinking better of it and simply vocalizing.  “No, treatment days are the worst…” he says, eyeing Derek cautiously.  He hadn’t expected him to get here until later, when he’d have had more time to clean up, to not seem as sick as he was.  Despite it all, he couldn’t find it in him to be upset that Derek saw him this way, he was just too happy to have someone here.  And Derek’s werewolf healing mojo helped too.

          “Well, I’ll be back in a moment.  And you,” she points to Derek, his eyebows shooting up in alarm, “don’t get any funny ideas, this boy needs rest, not a make out session, you hear?”

          “We… we weren’t, I mean we’re not even…” Derek splutters, much like Stiles did the other day.

          “Ah ah, I don’t want to hear it.  Just know I’m watching you.”

          With one last warning glance, Nurse Nancy departs, leaving them both in stunned silence.  Stiles breaks first, wicked smile splaying his lips as he eyes Derek.  “Yeah Derek, don’t be trying to make out with me.  I don’t need your tongue shoved down my throat…”

          He detects an uptick in his heartbeat then.  Not enough to indicate a lie, but something, and it makes him freeze.  Their hands are still tangled together, and despite what she’s said, he makes no move to disengage, not unless Stiles seems to want to.  He doesn’t though, seems content to sit with their hands together, Derek leeching away the pain whenever he notices Stiles wincing a bit.  “I’ll try to keep my hands, well, my tongue… to myself,” he drawls, smiling lightly.

          By the time Nurse Nancy has returned, Stiles has drifted off, pillow returned to its rightful place beneath his head and heart sinking into a mostly steady rhythm.  “So… I guess you did make him feel better.  He can never sleep right after treatment, much less this soon after,” she intones, setting the bucket down next to the bed.  

          Derek just smiles back, happy that maybe him being here helped Stiles somewhat, at least today.  “Guess so,” he admits sheepishly.

          “So… how long have you been together?”

          "Look, we told you, we’re not.”

          "Fine,” she says, making to turn away.  She stops at the alat moment though, peering down at him once more.  “How long have you been in love with him then?”

          Derek gulps, checking the steady rhythm of Stiles heart to see if he can talk freely.  Satisifed Stiles is asleep, he looks up, face a mix of emotions.  “I think for a while now… but I only just realized it,” he says, solitary tear rolling down his cheek.

          "I’m so sorry dear,” she says, patting him on the back and making her exit.

          If Stiles wasn’t entirely asleep, had slowed his heartrate just so Derek could get some rest from talking, well, he wouldn’t tell.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I'm so sorry! I had no idea it'd been a two months since the last update! So sorry to keep you all waiting! I really am.
> 
> Well, Stiles knows about Derek now, how will he take it? Will he tell Derek? Who knows?!
> 
> As always, a big thank you to all my Wonderful Readers for everything!


	9. Halloween In The hospital

          When he wakes up, moon shining brightly through the cracks in the blinds, Stiles smiles to himself.  Despite how sick he is, he knows that Derek loves him now.  It as a bit of a shock, he’ll admit, but one he was happy for.  If only it had come sooner, before he got sick.  The comforting presence of Derek, usually large enough to fill the room, has disappeared.  “Figures, stupid rules on non-family members” Stiles mutters to himself.  Then again, the way the crescent illuminates the cold room warms him, reminds him of the brooding man who’d won his heart.

          Sure, Derek could be an asshole at times, dour and headstrong and seemingly emotionless, but so could Stiles at times.  He saw how they were connected, how they were the same, even in the midst of their glaring differences.  And, somewhere along the way, he’d fallen for Derek.   Maybe after this, maybe if he got better, no, when he got better, they could start something.  For now though?  Well, he’d keep his mouth shut.  With that, stiles slipped off to sleep, dreaming of running with a black wolf with startling emerald eyes.

 

 **Stiles:**   I’m too sick to go trick or treating L

_Sent:  1:05 pm, Oct 31 st_

                                                                                                                                       **Sourwolf:** Boo hoo

_Sent: 1:11 pm, Oct 31 st._

**Stiles:**   Did… Did you just make a joke?

_Sent:  1:11 pm, Oct 31 st_

                                                                                                                                       **Sourwolf:** Guess so.  Must be the holiday “spirit”

_Sent:  1:13 pm, Oct 31 st_

**Stiles:**   Two!?  Two jokes???

_Sent:  1:15 pm, Oct 31 st_

                                                                                                                                       **Sourwolf:**   What?  I can be funny…

_Sent:  1:18 pm, Oct 31 st_

**Stiles:**   I’m shocked.  Really.

_Sent:  1:21 Pm, Oct 31 st_

                                                                                                                                        **Sourwolf:**   How about I bring you candy?

_Sent:  1:22 Pm, Oct 31 st_

**Stiles:**   :DDDDDDDDD

_Sent:  1:22 pm, Oct 31 st_

                                                                                                                                        **Sourwolf:**   On my way

_Sent: 1:27 pm, Oct 31 st_

**Stiles:** Thanks Derek…

_Sent:  1:31 pm, Oct 31 st_

 

          The store is crowded, and it annoys Derek.  He still feels a bit claustrophobic around large crowds, like busy bees buzzing about the hive, him the reckless bear intruding on their work.  Nevertheless, he’s doing this for Stiles, so he marches through the store, little red basket in hand, looking for candy.  Of course, being Halloween, he barely finds anything.  The last bag of Reese’s almost gets snatched before he growls at the old lady reaching for them.  That was rude, but Stiles doesn’t need to know that.

          The acne ridden cashier averts his eyes when Derek’s steely gaze comes to rest upon him.  He throws the bags of candy on the counter and begins searching through his wallet.  “Stocking up for the trick or treaters?” the man asks, innocent and a bit nervous.

          Derek glares at him again, eyes smoldering.   “No, they’re for my boyfr-“ he stops short, realizing what he almost said.   “My, my friend.   In the hospital.”

          “Oh, ok,” the guy says, voice breaking and rising a pitch too high from nerves.  Or puberty, Derek doesn’t really know or care.  After paying swiftly, Derek rushes out of the store and back towards the hospital.

          There are no oranges or greens, no festive colors adorning the hospital walls or interiors, save for one sad banner, festooned above the nurse’s station.  Derek trudges towards Stiles room, feet shuffling as he walks.  He’s nervous, afraid that maybe Nurse Nancy has let on his secret to Stiles.  That would be supremely embarrassing.  Standing in the doorway, he eyes Stiles, playing on his phone, looking mildly amused and at the least, better than he had a few days ago.

          “So, no elaborate costume this year?” Derek asks, remembering how into Halloween Stiles sometimes got.  The look of hurt on Stiles face takes him aback, and he realizes how insensitive that was.  “I… Sorry.  I didn’t mean it like that.”

          “I know Derek,” Stiles says, laying his phone down on the chintzy bedside table and looking at the bags with hunger in his eyes.

          “Oh, uh, yeah, these are for you,” Derek mumbles, holding out the bags to Stiles who has begun to make “gimme” gestures with his hands.  The boy eagerly digs in, ripping the package open like a savage and savoring the chocolatey flavors.  “Good huh?”

          Stiles is lost in his euphoric sugar rush foir a moment, only replying once he’s swallowed.  “Dad won’t bring me junk food, all I’ve had is the horrible hospital stuff for a long time,” Stiles admits petulantly.  “And I would be dressed up if it weren’t for being in the hospital.”

          “So, uh, did you have an idea of what you were going to go as?” Derek asks, treading lightly.

          “You,” Stiles deadpans, pushing another peanut butter cup into his mouth.

          “Me, what?”

          “Yeah,like, a werewolf.  Had the fangs and red contacts and fake sideburns all ordered.  Even had a leather jacket on layaway at the store.  Then, well, this happened,” he says, gesturing around to the room.

          “I’m sorry,” Derk says, hanging his head.  He doesn’t want to bring up sad thoughts for Stiles on a holiday, but as always, he’s useless when it comes to comforting others.

          “Hey, at least I have the real thing to keep me company,” he says, now opening a bag of Skittles.

          “So, uh, where’s you dad?”

          “At home.  He always has to work Halloween because of the crime and vandalism.”

          After that they sit mostly in silence, Stiles munching on candy and even getting Derek to reluctantly eat some.  He begrudgingly admits they’re pretty good.  Derek finds a channel with campy monster movies on the television.  He can’t stand them, but Stiles fawns all over it, so he sits there, watching along.  At some point they both begin to doze off, Derek’s chair pushed right up next to the bed, Stiles’ head lolling onto his shoulder.  When Nurse Nancy comes to tell them visiting hours are over, she just shuts the door and turns the other way.  Might as well let the boys have one night together she thinks as she walks down the deserted hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fluffy chapter to help soothe your feels from the last one. :)
> 
> So, today I wrote two of the final three chapters to this fic. That means I know where I'm going, all we have to do is get there. Would you all rather see this play out moderately slow, with time skips of only a few days like this one, or do you mind chapters skipping whole weeks in time? Chime in with a comment to let me know!
> 
> Thanks as always to all my Wonderful Readers for your continued support!


	10. A Different Kind Of Crossplay

**Sourwolf:**   Hey

_Sent:  1:44 pm, Nov 1 st_

                                                                                                                **Stiles:** Hey Der

_Sent:  2:05 pm, Nov 1 st_

**Sourwolf:** I have a surprise for you

_Sent:  2:07 pm, Nov 1 st_

                                                                                                                **Stiles:** What? :)

_Sent:  2:11 pm, Nov 1st_

**Sourwolf** :  Can I bring it up now?

_Sent: 2:14 pm, Nov 1 st_

                                                                                                                **Stiles:**   Yes!  Now!

_Sent:  2:15 pm, Nov 1 st_

                Not a minute later Derek appears in the doorway and Stiles?  Well Stiles laughs his head off.  High and bracing, it makes Derek’s heart swell with happiness and pride.  Derek stands dressed in a t-shirt with a stupid slogan on it, a plaid flannel and a bright red hoodie.

                “Derek, Omigod, what is this?” Stiles ekes out between laughs.

                “Belated Halloween costumes,” Derek answers, grinning.

                Stiles quirks his head to the side, “costumes?”

                At that Derek steps forward, bringing a garment back from around the door, beaming at Stiles.  As he approaches, Derek begins to unzip the bag, pulling things out.  First he hands Stiles a plastic werewolf mask, Stiles erupting into titters.

                “Really Derek?”

                “It was the best I could find on short notice,” he shrugs.  Then he pulls out a set of fake nails, press ons, and fake fangs.  Stiles smiles at those, chuckling as he fits them into his mouth.

                “Grawhrr, Hime de Alfah!” he says, words muffled by the teeth.

                “Now you see why I talk so little.  The teeth are a pain,” Derek admits, pulling up the little white chair by the bed.  “I have one more thing and this… well, it’s special, so it’s actually a real gift, not like this cheap stuff.”

                “And what is that?” Stiles asks, sobering a bit.  That’s when Derek pulls his battered leather coat, the same one he’d been wearing the first time they met, out of the bag and laid it over Stiles’ lap.  “Derek…”

                “I run hot anyway, no idea why I thought leather was a good idea,” he said, carding his hand through his own hair.  A shy smile splayed on his lips as he looked up at Stiles.  “Like it?”

                “Derek I…” Stiles begins, tears welling up.  With a concerted effort, the young man seems to force them back.  “I _love_ it, thanks."

                “Oh, and one more thing, if you’re feeling up to it.”

                “Wha?” he says, having replaced the fangs again.

                “Nancy said I could roll you outside for a bit, as long as you wore a coat.”

                “You… you asked my nurse to let me go out?”

                “ _Can Stiles come out and play_?” Derek said, screwing up his face until it looked childish.

                “Where is a camera when you need one?”

                “Right here,” Derek rebutted, showing the camera he had in his pocket.  “Thought you might want to take a picture in your costume, so your dad could see.  May not be up to your standards bu-“

                “No Derek, it’s perfect,” Stiles sighed, opening his arms, and Derek wasn’t sure what to do.  “Come on Sourwolf, a hug won’t kill you.”  Derek relented, giving in and hugging Stiles, but not too tight.

                Slowly Derek began to help Stiles up and into a wheelchair.  The boy protested, but, even though he could walk, Nancy had been keen on him not exerting himself.  So, Derek had distracted Stiles with banter until they were outside.

                “How did we get out here?”

                “I used my sparkling wit to hoodwink you,” Derek joked, rubbing his shoulder.

                “I swear you aren’t Derek.  You’re like, a Derek shaped alien.  Hey,would that make you an Alienwolf, since Were means man?”

                Derek just rolled his eyes, pushing the chair around, trying not to be too caught up in how contented he felt having Stiles smothered in his scent with the jacket, nearly drowning out the sickly stench of disease.  “I assure you I am the real Derek Hale,-”

                “Will the real Derek Hale, please stand up!” Stiles interjected

                “-With the emotional baggage to prove it.”

                “Party pooper!”

                “Just reassuring you of my identity.”

                “It’s ok, I know it’s you.  I’d always know if it was an impostor…”

                Derek was brought up short on that, nearly tripping over his own feet.  Smiling to himself, Derek continued strolling until they reached a bench, where he lifted Stiles up “ _Derek I can do it myself you big lug!”_ and sat him next to him.  Unsure what to do or say next, Derek decided they should take their picture, grabbing Stiles’ things and handing to him.  He had to admit, it was a cute costume.  For a ten year old.

                “I look twelve, don’t I?  Tell me the honest truth…”

                “I was thinking ten,” Derek chuckled, getting an awkward semi-pout, since Stiles couldn’t quite get his mouth to cooperate with the fangs in it.  Derek ended up taking a picture of Stiles while he was making the face, getting a startled squawk from the man.

                “ **Gherk!”** Stiles grumped. 

                “Couldn’t resist,” Derek said, smiling brazenly.  He got up, snapping a few shots of Stiles before sitting back down.  Just as he was putting the camera away, Stiles stopped him.

                “Hey, not yet.”

                “What?  More?”

                “Of us.”

                “Us?”

                “Yeah, us?  We match right?  I’m you, you’re me?”

                “Yeah, I guess so…” Derek admitted, pulling close so they could both get in the picture.  Afterwards they sat and looked over them, giggling a bit.  Despite what was going on, the secrecy, the impending dread, Derek couldn’t help but be happy, for once.  Soon Stiles began to get cold, and Derek wrapped an arm around him.  Eventually that wasn’t enough though.

                “Der… ‘m cold, can we go back?”

                “Sure Stiles…” Derek picked him up, resting him back in the chair.  They went back in, Stiles falling asleep, worn out, almost as soon as he got back in bed.  Derek stood over him for a while, but figured he should go, visiting hours would be over soon anyway.  With a small smile and wave to Nancy, he headed out to his car.

**********  


                                                                                                                **Stiles:** Thanks for today Der

_Sent: 10:45 pm, Nov 1 st_

**Sourwolf:**   It was nothing

_Sent:  10:48 pm, Nov 1 st_

                                                                                                                **Stiles:** No, it, well, it meant a lot.  Thanks.

_Sent:  10:53 pm, Nov 1 st_

**Sourwolf:** Glad it cheered you up

_Sent:  10:54 pm, Nov 1 st_

                                                                                                                **Stiles:**   Tomorrow’s a treatment day…

                                                                                                                **Stiles** :  So don’t come ok?

_Sent:  10:59 pm, Nov 1 st_

**Sourwolf:** Are you sure?  I don’t mind.

_Sent: 11:00 pm, Nov 1 st_

                                                                                                                **Stiles:**   I’d rather you not see me like that

_Sent: 11:05 pm, Nov 1 st_

                                                                                                                **Stiles:**   But thanks anyway, for offering

_Sent: 11:07 pm, Nov 1 st_

**Sourwolf:**   No problem Stiles.  Feel better.

_Sent:  11:09 pm, Nov 1 st_

                                                                                                                **Stiles:**   Thnx, night Der!

_Sent:  11:11 pm, Nov 1 st_

**Sourwolf:**   Night Stiles, good luck

_Sent:  11:15 pm, Nov 1 st_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, (if a tad late) a new chapter of LMLS!
> 
> Sorry it's not plot progression really, but fluff, fluff so much fluff.
> 
> Thanks to all my Wonderful Readers for the subs, comments and kudos!
> 
> I think the next update is going to "Erasure" fyi, then maybe "Performing Hearts."


	11. Turning Point

                                                                                                **Stiles** : Der?

_Sent: 4:32 pm, Nov 2 nd_

**Derek:** Yeah?

_Sent: 4:33 pm, Nov 2 nd_

                                                                                                **Stiles:** You’re not coming right?

_Sent: 4:35 pm, Nov 2 nd_

**Derek:** Do you want me too?

_Sent: 4:37 pm, Nov 2_

**Derek:** Stiles?

_Sent: 4:41 pm_

**Derek:** Stiles are you ok?

_Sent: 4:50 pm_

**Derek:** I think I should come

_Sent: 4:59 pm_

**Derek:** I’m leaving now

_Sent: 5:25 pm_

                                                                                                **Stiles:** Don’t.

_Sent: 5:31 pm, Nov 2 nd_

**Derek:** Why wouldn’t you answer?

_Sent: 5:33 pm, Nov 2 nd_

                                                                                                **Stiles** : Just don’t Derek.

                                                                                                **Stiles:** Bye, goodnight.

_Sent:  5:42 pm, Nov 3rd_

 

 **Derek:** Feeling better?

_Sent: 10:46 am, Nov 3 rd_

**Derek:** Guess you aren’t up, text me later.

_Sent: 11:02 am, Nov 3 rd_

**Derek:** Stiles? Still not up?

_Sent: 2:22 pm, Nov 3 rd_

**Derek:** Are you ok, you’re worrying me…

_Sent: 3:45 pm, Nov 3 rd_

                                                                                                **Stiles:** Big bad wolf worried about me?

                                                                                                **Stiles:** Yeah, sure. Whatever.

_Sent: 4:15 pm, Nov 3 rd_

**Derek:** What are you talking about Stiles?

_Sent: 4:18 pm, Nov 3 rd_

                                                                                                **Stiles:** I can’t do this Derek

                                                                                                **Stiles:** Leave me alone

_Sent: 4:27 pm, Nov 3 rd_

**Derek:** Stiles?

_Sent: 4:30 pm, Nov 3 rd_

                                                                                                **Stiles:** LEAVE ME ALONE!

_Sent: 4:35 pm, Nov 3 rd_

                The messages floored Derek, sending his heart plummeting like a rock into the sea. A sea of despair and longing. Re-reading them Derek couldn’t make sense of it, words swirling around in his mind, never linking up, no logical conclusion to be drawn. “Stiles must be sick…” he murmured, sitting on his bed. It was the only answer that made a semblance of sense. Falling back in the bed, he settled in for yet another fretful day.

                A low hum startles him from his slumber, blinking the sleep from his eyes. A hand searches blindly for his phone, the most likely culprit, clattering as he knocks things to the ground. Finally he manages to acquire it, strong hands bringing it to his ear.

                “’llo?” Derek mumbles, eyes barely open.

                “Derek?” a female voice intones, low and cautious.

                “Cora? That you?” he asks, surprised to get a call after all this time.

                “Yeah, where have you been. Scott could use some help.”

                “With what?”

                “Things. Things, around here. Supernatural things.”

                “Like what?”

                “My goodness Derek I’m trying to say I miss you!”

                “You… you do?” he asks, voice small and light, shocked but more than a little pleased.

                “Yes Derek. Ugh, you’ve been gone forever.”

                “It hasn’t been that long…”

                “Whatever, can’t you just tell me what you’re up to?”

                “I wish I could. I’m sorry Cora, I told you I can’t.”

                “Fine, be a jerk Derek. You’re almost as bad as Stiles.”

                “Huh?”

                “I mean you’re becoming a broody recluse like him. Or, more accurately, he became one like you used to be, and then you started relapsing.”

                “Very funny Cora I-“ Derek stops, getting a text on his phone. “Hold on a sec Cora…”

                “Fine.”

                                                                                                **Stiles:** I don’t want you coming here anymore.

                                                                                                **Stiles:** Go home Derek

_Sent: 8:55 pm, Nov 3 rd_

                “I might be home soon…” Derek sighs, flicking off the text and back to his call with Cora.

                “Good. Scott’s being a dictator without Stiles or you here. Training three times a week Derek. I like exercise, but even I don’t want to run around the woods this much.

                “I’ll call you tomorrow ok Cora? I was asleep.”

                “You better, night Derek… Love you.”

                “Love you too Cora, night.”

                Sleep doesn’t come easy, but it arrives, bringing with it dreams and nightmares. Images of Stiles, healthy and Hale, on his way to becoming a Hale in his tuxedo, swim through Derek’s dreams. Derek stands across from him, looking dapper in his own suit, but they don’t match. Soon enough the image flickers, changing imperceptibly until Derek, still clad in his suit, stands not across from the man he loves, but a casket. The Sheriff and Scott’s pack sit behind him in rows, mourning, crying. The thought they missed Stiles last months when he could have done something about it, once a nagging sound in the back of his mind grows to a raucous din, pounding and blaring until Derek wakes. Cold sweat drips slowly, body glistening from it as Derek’s chest heaves.

 *********              

                When day breaks, Derek rides out to the hospital, determination etched on his face. Striding through the doors, he stops short of Stiles’ room, recognizing the sheriff’s scent. No conversation drifts to his ears, only the sound of Stiles and his father’s breathing, he assumes they’re asleep until a chair creaking breaks the silence. Soon the sheriff is walking into the hallway, scrubbing a hand over his face. Whether he’s wiping tears or sleep from his eyes derek isn’t sure, but he approaches cautiously, giving a small wave to the man.

                “Derek?” the sheriff asks, a bit surprised.

                “Good morning,” he says, plain and even, not sure if Stiles mentioned not wanting to see him.

                “You shouldn’t be here,” is the reply. There’s no malice in the words, more matter of fact than anything else. Derek makes a small noise in his throat, surely giving him an odd look, causing the sheriff to continue. “He’s bad Derek. This last round really took it out of him. Considering how you’re skulking about, I imagine you two fought?”

                Derek shrugs, “more like he told me to stay away.”

                “It might be for the best…”

                “But, I… I thought you said?”

                “I know Derek, it is good for him. But maybe, give him some space. Why don’t you go back to Beacon hills for a day or two? Check in with the pack. You’ve been wearing the same clothes for a while now.”

                Glancing down, he realizes he’s worn these same three Henley’s for quite a while. “Are you sure?”

                “Yes. Just for a bit. I’m sure by the time you get back he’ll feel better,” the sheriff says, but Derk knows it’s a lie. He turns to leave, sighing, but is stopped when the older man speaks again. “Scott. He, he used to have Asthma.”

                “Yeah, he did…” Derek says, not understanding.

                “If this treatment doesn’t work. If he doesn’t get better. Can you… would it work for Stiles?”

                And Derek gets it, sees how desperate the man is to save his only son. “Stiles doesn’t want the Bite.”

                “But would it work Derek?” the man says, one hand clasped around Derek’s arm, face stern, an attempt at stoic falling towards somber instead.

                “It might. I’ve never heard about the limits.”

                “Would you do it? If it was the only way?”

                “Stiles doesn’t want it though…” Derek says, and his body language makes it clear he’s been over this before. Examined and re-examined ways to convince the boy. “And I can’t do it anyway. Only an Alpha can and I’m, well, not the Alpha anymore.”

                “Scott?” he asks, almost begs.

                “Scott.”

                “Ok, ok…” he says, wringing his hands and then carding one through his hair. Derek catches a glimpse of grey on the side, surely from the added stress of Stiles’ condition. With a deep sigh, the sheriff turns and heads back towards Stiles’ room. For his part, Derek trudges back downstairs and out across the parking lot. When he gets to the car, he sits in silence, eyes strained upwards, searching for the correct window. His fingers dial before he’s thought what he’s going to say.

                “Hey Derek,” Cora says, all cheer and pep, unusual, but not unwelcome.

                “I’m coming home…” Derek says, and without another glance back, pulls out of the hospital parking lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sad chapter! So, would you all like to see the pack back in Beacon Hills, or just skip ahead to Derek's return?
> 
> Thanks as always to all my Wonderful Readers for the comments, subs and kudos!


	12. Pack Meeting and Greeting

                The ride home is almost unbearable, trapped inside the car with only his thoughts. Derek fumbles with the radio, trying to drown out his own voice in his head, but finds that every song reminds him of Stiles. Finally, silence is the only option. He doesn’t stop until he’s home, walks in, takes a shower and plops on the bed. Derek fully intended on going and meeting the others, but he falls right asleep.

                A pain in his arm startles him awake. Still exhausted, he’s too weary to even shift, only blinking up at his assailant. “Cora?” he says, bleary vision making recognition hard.

                “Yes, it is Cora. Your sister, the one you could have at least called to tell you were back in Beacon Hills,” she huffs, smacking him in the arm again, this time much harder.

                “Sorry, guess I passed out. Drove straight here from…” and Derek cuts himself off there, not wanting to reveal anything else.

                Shoulders rising up and dropping down dramatically, Cora sighs and turns towards the door. “I swear you always have to be broody and mysterious.” She waves her arms in defeat, tromping out of the room and down the hall. Derek is thankful he’d taken so many showers the night before, obviously smothering Stiles scent enough that Cora couldn’t recognize it. Just to be safe, he takes another long one, scrubbing until his skin feels raw, even if it heals too fast to actually hurt.

                “Is Scott still up?” he calls down the hall, drying his hair as he leans over the banister.

                His sister walks out from under the stairs, peering up at him. “Probably. I think he and Isaac were hanging out tonight.” She stomps up the stairs and he’s sure from the anger spinning in her scent she hasn’t forgiven him yet.

                Walking over as she reaches the landing, he envelopes her in a large hug. “I’m sorry if I worried you Cora. Forgive me?” he pleaded, moving back to watch her expression.

                “Ugh, fine you big idiot,” she sneers, but he can feel the fondness in it. It reminds him of Stiles again, which hurts. Thankfully Cora doesn’t press him on it, even though he’s sure his scent just redshifted to grief in record time, even for him. “Go put on some pants and we’ll head over. I need to yell at McCall about giving Isaac preferential treatment anyway.” Cora disappears into her own room and they meet back up in a few minutes, matching leather jackets. Derek quirks an eyebrow at her, wordlessly questioning. “What? Someone had to take over for you while you went AWOL, besides, leather suits me,” she smirked, sliding down the banister to the floor. Derek jumped it all in one go. “Show off.”

* * *

           

                The others are already waiting on the porch, Scott’s arms folded, looking more stoic than Derek’s ever seen him. The waves of unhappiness wash over him from the pack, his pack, and he nearly hesitates. Cora grabs him by the arm though, tugging just hard enough to cause him to lurch forward and then he doesn’t stop until he gets to the stairs.

                “Hale,” Scott intones, eyes red and shoulders set.

                “McCall,” Derek drawls, rolling his eyes. Then, in the blink of an eye Scott’s eyes flicker back and he’s hugging Derek. Hugging. Derek.

                “What? No, get off me Scott!”

                “Where were you?! First Stiles leaves us and then you disappear too?”

                Derek gulps, feels the air rushing out through gritted teeth. They eye him wearily, but then seem to ignore it in favor of welcoming him back, Derek practically dragged inside. It seems things really had been fairly quiet, Scott appraising him of what little the pack has gone through while he was away. Isaac and Kira leave soon after official pack business is dealt with, Cora erupting into titters once they hear the car pull away.

                “What’s so funny?” Derek inquires, eyebrows raising a bit.

                “Kira and Isaac are dating!” Cora laughs like it’s the funniest thing she's ever heard. His eyes travel back to Scott who seems unbothered despite them having only broken up less than a year ago. As if on cue, Scott turns, dopey grin smiling back at him.

                “I’m fine with it, happy for them,” he says, smile genuine and heartfelt. There’s no stutter to his heart either and it makes Derek glad, not for the first time, that Scott has adapted to being the Alpha, because he really is a nice guy.

                “Scott has literally dated like, a fourth of his pack, it’s totally incestuous,” Cora laughs, her giggles starting up again. Scott blushes, but doesn’t deny it, as if he could considering they all know about his tumultuous love life.

                Groaning, Scott stands and stretches, hand reaching for Allison’s. “You ready for bed, I think that’s enough pack stuff for tonight, seeing as Derek is stonewalling us as usual.”

                With a little huff Derek rises as well, he and Cora showing themselves out. “It’s weird with the pack being so spread out.”

                “True, but what are we going to do? Stiles abandoned us, Lydia, Danny and the murder twins are away at college and Jackson only shows up like, once a year…” Cora complains.

                They get in the car as Derek scolds her.  “I thought we discussed calling them that? They’re pack now.”

                “They will always be the murder twins to me. I know they’re sorry and more than proved their dedication to the pack these last few years, but that doesn’t mean I have to like them. I miss Boyd and Erica…”

                “So do I.”

                “I miss Stiles.” And that hurts him, because he knows Cora and Stiles had gotten close before Stiles graduated, before everything happened. He can’t tell her though, he won’t betray Stiles’ trust like that.

* * *

 

                That night Derek packs a bag of clean clothes, sets it by his door to leave in the morning. Then, when morning comes, the smell of coffee wakes him, eyes droopy as he stumbles to the kitchen. He smiles when he sees Cora, forgets how much he misses waking up to pack, to family, in the morning. In his own house. They cook breakfast together like they used to before Cora has to leave for college. He tries to tell himself it’s because Stiles won’t text him back that he doesn’t leave, but he knows it’s the expectant smile on his sister’s face as she leaves, the wish not to make her come home to an empty house that keeps him there.

                So he stays. A day becomes two, then three, then a couple weeks. He hears nothing from Stiles and tapers off his communications, only updating once a night, hopelessly messaging with no response.   One day he sees Sheriff, but all he gets is a sad shake of the head and that’s enough. It isn’t until he’s sitting on the couch, phone discarded on the table as Cora paints her toenails that something happens to jar him out of his new routine.

                “Stiles texted you!” Cora shouts and Derek’s on the phone in a flash, ripping it from her hands and scanning the messages.

                “Don’t look at those!” he roars, furious at himself for being so careless.

                “I just wanted to play a game while my toes dried but you’ve been hiding that Stiles texted you? And what is this about telling you to go home?”

                His fingers flick through, scanning the messages over and over, but finds nothing new. “I thought you said he texted me?”

                “Yeah, a long time ago, but still more recently than any of us. What’s going on Derek?”

                Derek slumps for a moment, all the hope and happiness about Stiles finally answering him draining, leaving only the anger at his own stupidity left. “It’s none of your business Cora!” he bellows, wrenching himself from his seat and storming off. That’s when he decides to leave, knows he has to get back before everyone finds out, before he slips up again and ruins Stiles’ last wish. The words sting in his mind, poison paralyzing him as he sits on his bed, eyes flicking to the doorway as Cora stands, arm propped against the jamb.

                “I’m not going to tell anybody. It’d just make them upset,” she says, looking thoroughly chastised. “Besides, if you won’t tell me, then it must be important. Just, make sure he knows we love him ok?” Derek just nods, biting his tongue to stop himself from doing or saying anything to give them both away.

               “He knows,” he says with finality. Cora just smiles, he hears her footsteps going towards her room, the door closing and locking. With the new soundproofing he can’t hear her, but he figures she’s crying. They all miss Stiles, and he can’t even imagine what she thinks is going on now, but he can’t explain.

* * *

 

                When Cora wakes up, its to the kind of quiet that only comes from complete solitude. There’s a note stuck to the fridge, and she scrunches it up and throws it in the trash. After she eats breakfast on her own she takes it out though, spreads it and re-reads it, before sticking it back on the fridge and heading out.

               

> _Dear Cora,_
> 
> _I’m sorry I can’t tell you where I’m going or anything about my contact with Stiles, whatever it may be. I only hope that you can forgive me and understand that what I’m doing is important and it’s the only reason I’m keeping it from you. I hate leaving you, but there are things I have to do. I hope to be back soon to visit._
> 
> _With love, your brother-_
> 
> _Derek_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this finally got finished. I had this chapter half done, not sure where to take it from there, but it's done now. I'll say now, I think we're getting closer to the end. Not like, only a few chapters left, but closer. 
> 
> Thanks as always to all my Wonderful Readers for sticking by me with my sporadic updates and for all your comments, kudos and subs!
> 
> As always, you can find me at my [Tumblr](http://wolvesofinnistrad.tumblr.com)


	13. Renovations

                Derek doesn’t use the heater, even though he has to drive partially wolfed out, ducking down whenever another driver flies past. He arrives just as the last rays of the afternoon sun shine through, obscuring his vision and forcing him to pull over. The motel has a vacancy, but he decides to rent night by night, not yet sure what he’s going to do. His next stop after depositing his few possessions in the dingy room is a realtor. He asks for the cheapest apartment close to the hospital.

                Since they aren’t busy the woman takes him out that day, considering he offers to pay in cash. The first two are much too upscale, not out of Derek’s price range, but offering amenities he has no use for, like terraces and hardwood floors. The next looks good, until he hears the muffled sounds of people fighting. After they leave he calls the police to report a domestic disturbance, knowing that his time for saving troubled teens is long behind him, but hoping the cops get the kid out. He memorizes the address just in case. Eventually she gets him set up with a place that’s close enough to the hospital, nothing extra, nearly squallid really, but not so foul and rank he can’t stay there. He figures fixing it up might distract him for a bit until Stiles answers.

                He finishes in two days, nothing else to do and working non-stop to try to keep his mind off Stiles. The paint dries glacially, Derek’s eyes watching each individual droplet fall. Eventually he has to leave, running around a park for a few hours until he’s burned off the excess nervous energy. A sign catches his eye, advertising burgers and fries. Realizing he hasn’t ate in a while, he trudges over, bell tinkling as he enters. A hostess brings him a burger and curly fries, commenting how they rarely got orders for them. In fact, they’d had a steady customer, an older gentleman she says, who ordered them to go, but stopped a while back. Derek cries in his little corner booth as he eats, wishing he’d taken Stiles up those times he wanted to go get food and he was too stubborn to drive them. Regrets all the times he could have been nicer to Stiles, could have realized how he felt and acted on it.

* * *

 

                When Derek awakens next, ears ringing with the sound of police sirens, he groans and turns on his stomach. Soon he realizes sleep isn’t going to take him again and sits up, snarling ineffectually in the direction of the offending noises that woke him. Tonight he’ll move into the apartment officially since everything is dried. The same diner calls to him once more, the kind waitress greeting him and offering a menu. Sated, he heads out and buys a few things for the apartment he needs and drops them off. In the back of his mind he understands it’s all just stalling, keeping his mind off the inevitable.

                When he starts contemplating calling and checking in on Cora or Scott, he buckles, steeling himself as he drives towards the hospital. It’s still early enough that he can get in for visiting hours, and if he’s timed it right, Stiles shouldn’t have had a treatment in a few days, which hopefully raises his chances of actually getting to talk to him. Before he even leaves the car the faint tendrils of decay and sickness reach out, seeping into his nostrils and clogging his lungs. Pushing through it he soldiers forth, averting his gaze from the employees and hoping his surly demeanor will keep them from accosting him.

                “Sir!” a woman’s voice calls out, and he tries to ignore it. “Sir!”

                “Yes,” he sighs, turning, only to be greeted by a familiar face. “Nurse Nancy, oh. How are you?”

                She gives him an appraising look, eyes raking over him, taking in his newer clothes and somewhat more kempt facial hair. “You look better dear.”

                “Yeah I feel better. Well, that’s a lie, but, anyway…”

                “I get it honey, I do. You know, he mentions you in his sleep sometimes.”

                Derek doesn’t hear her last comment though, too distracted by the far-off sound of Stiles’ voice. He cranes his neck, trying to see if its coming from his room or not, before taking off. Then, shoes squeaking on the floor, he whirls back around. “Sorry, I have to go. Nice talking with you Nancy.”

                He’s all set to stroll inside like nothing’s happened when he hears the Sheriff’s voice echoing down the halls. Finding a bench, he sits, pulls out his phone as if he’s texting someone, and listens in. Knowing it’s wrong doesn’t stop him, although he does feel a twinge of guilt about it. Checking on Stiles is a little higher on his list right now than morality.

                “He doesn’t message as much anymore,” Stiles says, and he’s not sure if that was in answer to a question Stiles’ father asked or not.

                “But he still does, right?” the Sheriff questions, voice stretched thin as paper, likely from talking for hours on end with Stiles. He’d noticed they did that sometimes, as if they needed to fit in enough conversation to last the next ten years. And maybe they did. It was a luxury he didn’t have, and he wouldn’t begrudge John any more time with his son, especially when stiles made it clear he wanted Derek gone. Not that Derek was going to follow that particular order to the letter.

                Stiles is quiet for a moment, voice just as strained, if not more, before answering. “Yeah, he does. Every night like clockwork. I should call him Big Ben.” Stiles takes a deep, raspy breath then, letting it out in a shuddering exhale.

                “You ok son?”

                “Yeah just… I’m fine. So, has he bothered you for information? Derek can be persistant, we all know that. Like a dog with a bone.” Stiles clearly tries to laugh at his own humor, sound turning into a pained grunt halfway through.

                Derek can hear the Sheriff’s hands slide together, Stiles clearly hasn’t asked about him in a while and John must be trying to think of what to say. “No, he’s kept his distance. I saw him and Cora out last week, but that’s all.

                “Cora?” Stiles huffs, sheets rustling as he must move to sit up.

                “Yeah, he’s, he’s back in Beacon Hills. Didn’t you know that?”

                “No, I, I didn’t. Well, it’s, it’s for the best anyway…” The urge to run in, to grab Stiles and tell him he’s here, now, that he won’t leave again and all he had to do was ask and he’d have been back sooner is strong, but he doesn’t. He sits, eavesdropping, thankfully avoiding any other encounters with the staff.

                “I thought you told him to leave? At least, that’s how he made it sound.”

                “No, I did. I did. He’s better off. I’m better off.” Derek can hear the lie all the way from here, and his heart sinks lower.

                “I may not be a werewolf, but I am your father and I know when you’re lying Stiles.”

                “Am not!” Stiles whines petulantly, Derek imagines him flailing his arms until he remembers he can’t. Both from lack of energy and the IVs and such threaded into his arms.

                “Sure kiddo. Whatever you say,” john scoffs.

                “Is he… Is he happy?”

                “I don’t know son. Why don’t you ask him?”

                Quickly Derek turns off the volume on his phone, looking at it expectantly. When nothing happens he sighs, ears refocusing on the two men. “No. He’s back there, where he belongs. Maybe he’ll f-forget about m-me,” Stiles says, and it sounds like he’s about to cry. At this point Derek feels he’s snooped enough, guilt like a weight in his chest and falling into his stomach. He strides out, jacket flapping behind him and ignoring the looks Nancy gives him. Leaving hurt Stiles, even if he’d asked for it. He wasn’t going to hurt him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at that another chapter! I actually wrote this at the same time as the other one and decided to be nice and just post it today since the wait between the last two updates was so long. :D Hope you enjoy it! Next chapter will likely be Stiles and Derek meeting again.
> 
> As always, thanks to all my Wonderful Readers for their continued support and all the comments, subs and kudos!
> 
> Why not come chill with me over at my [Tumblr](http://wolvesofinnistrad.tumblr.com)


	14. Dawn: A New Day

  **Derek:** Can I come back?

_Sent: 10:45 pm, Nov 24 th_

                Derek doesn’t expect a response, he’s messaged Stiles every day he’s been gone, many multiple times. Never once has he received anything back though, at times wondering whether Stiles had his number changed. The eavesdropping at the hospital put that worry to rest, yet did little to assuage Derek’s guilt and sadness. Surely Stiles must be ready to let him back he hopes. Part of him has almost given up though, trying to come to terms with having to watch Stiles waste away from afar; he’s not sure if it would be better or worse for his sanity.

                As he lay down to sleep, he rereads the text, idly wondering how he’d let himself be so brazen. He’d never directly asked if he could come back before, only stated that he hoped Stiles was well or inquired about his health. Doing his best to ignore the nerves wracking his stomach and seemingly gnawing at his insides, he drifted into a restless sleep.

 **Stiles** : Ok

_Sent: 12:21 am, Nov 25 th_

                Trill beeps crescendo into a clanging din in Derek’s ears. Lashes part difficultly, straining to read the display on the phone. Derek curses himself for leaving the sound on so high, sure Scott or Cora have just decided to text him something inane again. Neither of them ever appear to sleep normal hours. Children, he thinks derisively. Then his eyes blink open fully, reading the message and double- triple checking the sender. It’s from Stiles, it really is. His heart clenches, breathe catching in his chest as he sits bolt upright. It’s only one word, two simple little letters, but they mean more to him than anything.

 **Derek:** I’ll be there in the morning.

_Sent: 12:23 am, Nov 25 th_

                He types swiftly, fingers flying over keys, having to go back and fix three separate typos before he can send it. Before Stiles can even reply, and he’s not sure he will, he sends another.

Derek: Thank you for answering.

Sent: 12:24 am, Nov 25th

 **Stiles:** Don’t come until after lunch.

_Sent: 12:27 am, Nov 25 th_

                Derek begins typing again, but in the middle he’s interrupted by another message. Clicking back, he reads it carefully.

                                                                                                    **Stiles:** You’re welcome… Sorry I’m a shithead.

_Sent: 12:28 am, Nov 25 th_

                A smug smile plays on his lips then, and he erases what he wrote. Biting his lip, he considers how to reply, unsure what will convey his emotions without upsetting Stiles.

 **Derek:** Nah, I understand

_Sent: 12:31 am, Nov 25 th_

                The minutes pass, and soon it’s been an hour. Worry creeps into Derek’s bones, tugging at his heart strings and making him curse his glib reply. He can only hope that Stiles either felt it needed no response or fell asleep. The alternative, that he’d already disrupted the delicate balance they were just recreating, was too horrible to consider. Eventually he falls back asleep, phone clutched tight to his muscular frame and ringer set to the maximum. Its overkill, instinctually Derek knows that, but he won’t take chances when it comes to Stiles. Not again.

* * *

 

                Derek’s jittery and nervous. He’s been awake since the crack of dawn and drinking coffee the entire time. It doesn’t affect wolves that much, body absorbing and diffusing the caffeine too quickly, but he gets a tiny smidge of excess energy from it. At least he tries to tell himself it’s from that and not the prospect of getting to see Stiles again. It’s only just lunchtime. Derek had a big breakfast, plate piled high with bacon and eggs, even a few flapjacks slathered in maple syrup. The lady at the diner had took one look at him and started the cooks on his order, words not needed. Vaguely he realized he should really say something about the excellent service. He doesn’t though, shovels the food into his mouth and leaves. A $100 tip is left on the table though and maybe that will express things better than Derek could with words.

* * *

 

                As usual the rotting smell of bark hits him like a blast furnace as he enters, stinging his nostrils. This time though, this time it’s overpowered by something else. Something Derek hasn’t smelled in a long time, at least, not this particular brand. Its hope; Stiles’ hope.

                The room is empty save for Stiles when he arrives. He tiptoes inside, shutting the door carefully so as to not rouse the boy from his slumber. It takes everything in him not to lean over and kiss Stiles’ forehead or something else ridiculously cheesy and cliché. Consolation prize would be holding his hand, but even that seems too presumptuous, so he settles into the chair beside the bed. Flashing red numbers indicate its well after 1, sun still high, but blotted out by curtains and blinds, only filtering through miniscule cracks in need of repair. Derek hears Stiles’ heartbeat change, the faintest rustling of over-starched sheets before he sees his eyes creep open. For Derek it’s like watching the sun come up after the darkest night, a cool glass of water when your mouth is filled with sand. Swallowing hard, he screws a plaintive smile onto his face, not too bright, but enough to key Stiles in to how delighted he is to be sharing his company again.

                “G’afternoon,” Stiles mumbles, voice barely above a whisper, but, thankfully, from sleep and not exhaustion it seems. His arm slips out from under the covers, slithers beneath the bars of the bed and hangs limp.

                Derek takes it, lets his fingers entwine with Stiles, locking in place and never wanting to let go again. “You sound better,” he says, and it’s the truth, even if his other senses prove the contrary. Eyes flutter closed and Derek exhales, letting out a breath he’d been holding for what felt like weeks. Stiles had always seemed to have such a great lung capacity to ramble on at end, but in that moment Derek’s lungs were burning with disuse.

                “Feel better,” Stiles answers, and if it wasn’t for the wince Derek would believe him. “Now that you’re back anyway,” he adds, and that time Derek believes him. He knows it’s the truth and the thought of it wrecks him.

                “Glad to be back,” Derek replies, ignoring it was Stiles who told him to leave, Stiles who didn’t answer his texts. No, he wouldn’t bring that up, there was no room for blame, nor pointing fingers. Right now all that mattered was that he was here, sitting with Stiles, and things didn’t look quite as bleak anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next getting reacquainted, Thanksgiving and then... ;)
> 
> Sorry for all the slow updates everyone! I promise I'm trying, just stretched thin with so many WIPs.
> 
> As ever, a big thank you to all my Wonderful Readers for their comments, subs and kudos.
> 
> If you ever feel like chatting, want to bug me about what to update next or leave me a prompt, hit me up [here](wolvesofinnistrad.tumblr.com)


	15. Green Jello

                 “This tastes like shit,” Stiles huffs, pushing the plate of hospital food away. Nurse Nancy looks like she’s about to say something when Derek, sitting on the chair he’s seemingly taken residence in for the past day, speaks up.

                “Jello’s not bad,” he says through a mouthful, shit eating grin softened by the flecks of green oozing between his teeth.

                Stiles balks, makes fake retching noises; fake Derek knows, because he heard the real ones this morning and hasn’t forgotten, won’t ever probably.   “Wer-“ Stiles begins, then catches himself, “We’re in the presence of ladies Derek, stop being such an _animal._ ” If the inflection on the last sentence makes Derek howl with laughter, well, Stiles isn’t complaining.  Neither is Derek since it seems to make Stiles smile, and that recharges him like nothing else.

                Nancy gives them both a look before throwing up her hands. Her heels clack as she strides over to take the mostly eaten tray and heads for the door. “No staying after hours this time, I’m not covering for you again fella',” she warns, waving a boney finger at Derek.  Cowed, Derek nods sheepishly, turning a light pink.

                “She has you so whipped,” Stiles cajoles, elbowing Derek, or attempting to anyway, and nearly falling out of bed. Thankfully, Derek catches him, righting the boy and getting him back in bed.

                “It’s not being whipped to respect your elders,” Derek snaps.

                “I heard that!” Nancy calls from the hall, and Derek smacks himself in the forehead for not listening to see if she was still there.

                “Sorry!” he yells back, this time an even brighter red.

                Stiles just smirks, folding his arms triumphantly. “See, whipped.”

                Derek definitely does not flick a stray bit of Jello at him. He is not that childish… Well, maybe a little bit. Their laughter fills the room after that, both of them catching up, even though by now they have little to really talk about.   The image of Stiles and his father, talking to near exhaustion about seemingly random and unimportant topics floats by and Derek smiles, thankful that he is allowed the same courtesy. At least, to an extent, considering he has to leave when visiting hours are over. He’d attempted to sneak in the window, it wasn’t high up, but Stiles had told him to leave because he quote “wasn’t going to be driven out of another hospital by werewolves.”

                “So…” Stiles begins, twiddling his thumbs and looking at Derek with an inquisitive expression, the one he used when he wanted to weasel something out of you. “How is the pack?”

                Derek shrugs, unwilling or unsure what to say.

                “Derek,” Stiles warns, side-eyeing him. “Use your words boy.”

                “Make another dog joke again and you’ll be glad you’re already in a hospital,” Derek growls, but there’s no bite to it, no edge like there used to be. It’s all playful and fond. And that well, he knows it isn’t _new,_ but he still isn’t sure quite when that happened. He is happy that he’s mostly sure it was long before Stiles got sick, so he can’t blame his behavior on that.

                “Aww, is doggy cranky? Didn’t get a treat today boy?” Stiles retorts, face the picture of sarcasm. Derek just huffs, resigned to taking Stiles’ dumb jokes. “It’s no fun when you don’t fight back. Come on, how are they, I know you went back. My dad told me.”

                With a sigh, Derek recounts his time in Beacon Hills, skimming over most of the pack business besides the most recent threat, because if anything he’s sure Stiles will be interested in that. Sure enough, he has that manic gleam in his eye, the one Derek saw in so many researching sessions and all-nighters, like Stiles wants to get a pen and write down everything he knows on the subject then find twice that amount in new information.

                Stiles seems happy for a while, but then this look start to shadow his face, eyes going first and slowly traveling south until his entire face is a mask of pain and hurt. “Are you ok? Do you need a nurse? The bucket?” Derek asks, feeling just as helpless as usual.

                Putting a hand out, Stiles seems to force whatever it was away. “I- It was nothing,” he says, but Derek can hear the lie, and Stiles’ eyes seem to beg him not to question it. Derek has never been that kind to Stiles.

                “That’s a l-“ he starts, not even finishing before Stiles interjects.

                “Fine ok! It’s just, I miss them. I miss Scott and his stupid jokes and his constant pining over Allison. I miss Lydia always being better than me and our late night study sessions. I miss Cora teasing me and Isaac getting scolded by everyone and just… I miss them Derek…” Stiles finally admits, tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

                “I know,” Derek states, flat and emotionless. He knew Stiles did, but what was he to do when sworn to secrecy.  “You could alwa-“

                “Nope! Nuh uh, not gonna’ happen,” Stiles counters, cutting him off mid-sentence again. “I do not wanting them knowing anything about this. The doctors say the my prospects are still relatively good.  I’ll make it through this and pretend I joined a frat and became a douchebro or something to fit in. They’ll believe that. Heck, it may even score me brownie points with Jackson and Aiden.”

                Derek doesn’t say anything to that at first. Doesn’t say he can smell the sick getting stronger, the disease so firmly rooted now that Stiles’ scent is almost unrecognizable under it. How it’s grown over him, tangled and woven so thick Derek has to let his wolf go just to smell it some days. “Yeah, they’ll totally believe that. A polo shirt and a Natty Lite and you’ll be the spitting image. Not like you didn’t already have the personality,” he tries, hoping he sounds more believable than he feels.

                Stiles, for his part, either buys it, which he thinks is highly unlikely, or doesn’t want to argue and takes it for what it is. “Ha, good one Derek. Not like I didn’t clearly set that one up for you. Too easy.”

                “And the dog jokes?” Derek fires back, eyebrows doing the classic incredulous raise.

                “Ugh, how do you do that?!” Stiles whines, flailing his arms a bit and gesturing towards his eyebrows. Derek just wiggles them a bit, eliciting a small laugh. “Besides, I’ll have you know dog jokes are the epitome of humor among wolf packs, just like puns.”

                “No one likes puns Stiles,” Derek says, mouth scrunched up before quirking into a smile.

                “Fine, whatever you Philistine. My canine related humor is comedy gold. Just like those dumb eyes most of you have,” Stiles says, before rambling off on another tangent. That’s how they spend the rest of the day, bantering and arguing, like Derek never even left. Like Stiles wasn’t fighting for his life and lying prone in a hospital bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey at least it wasn't a month this time... XD Anyway, sorry! I hope you all enjoy it! Next chapter: Thanksgiving!
> 
> As always, a big thanks to all my Wonderful Readers, each and every one of your comments, kudos and subs inspires me and makes me yearn to give you guys more.


	16. Invitations

          It’s a sunny afternoon, sun drifting lazily in through the window, curtains opened for a change as the three men sit together. One man sits vigil on either side, the Sheriff is holding Stiles’ hand haphazardly, smiling at his son, while Derek attempts not to scowl, wishing he could show the same kind of affection for the boy as well. As it is, he should just be happy to be back with Stiles, even getting to spend time with his father as well.

          “So, tomorrow’s thanksgiving kiddo, you excited?” The Sheriff asks, giving Stiles a weak smile.

          Stiles, for his part, only gives a weak nod. He’d been better, or at least putting up a good show for them, but his energy was starting to run low today. “Yeah, hospital food, yippee,” Stiles drawls, voice laced with sarcasm.

          “I’d cook something and bring it up, but it’d be ice cold by the time I got here Stiles. Is there anthing you might like?” his father asks, wanting to help in some way.

          “No, you’re right,” Stiles begins, sighing in resignation. “It’ll be all cold and mushy, that’s no thanksgiving meal. At least the hospital might be warm, even if it tastes like plastic.”

          Derek tenses for a moment, eyes flickering between the Stilinski men, wondering whether what he’s a bout to say is really a good idea or not. Then his brain apparently loses control as his mouth starts speaking of its own accord. “You could cook the food at my place,” Derek says quickly.

          “Now, son, I don’t think the Hale house is really any closer to here than my own,” the Sheriff says, laughing a bit, but seeming pleasantly surprised none the less.

          His cheeks go a bit red, probably flushing to the tips of his ears before he admits his next piece of information. “I have a place here. It’s only a few minutes away really. There’s a kitchen, if you cooked it there, then, well, it would still be warm by the time we brought it here,” he hastens to say.

          “You bought an apartment here? To be closer to me?” Stiles asks, voice filled with awe, a small smile turning up the corner of his mouth.

          “Yeah,” is all Derek can say, looking away from Stiles’ questioning eyes and meeting the knowing ones of Mr. Stilinski instead.

          “Would you be alright with that Derek? I mean, it’s a big gesture,” the Sheriff says, but his eyes are far off, as if he’s already planning what he could make.

          “It’s no trouble, really. I’ve not even used the kitchen yet, so it might as well get some application,” he tells them.

          “Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” Stile says, but before Derek can answer, he’s already barreled ahead. “From hospital food by myself to a real dinner with you and my dad. This should be fun.”

          That flush comes back, harder and brighter than before Derek is sure, as he stares at Stiles. Surely he couldn’t have heard him right. Maybe he’d said things weird, made it seem like he was inviting himself. “I… I don’t have to come, really. You can just use my kitchen,” he says, but no sooner have the words left his mouth can he see the hurt look on Stiles’ face. “I mean, unless you want me too?”

          “Derek, I wouldn’t have just assumed you were coming if you weren’t more than welcome,” Stiles says, and he gives him this smiles and it just melts Derek’s heart. He honestly isn’t sure if he even says anything to that, just stares lovingly, adoringly at Stiles, the man he’s grown to be so in love with.

          “Well, I think visiting hours are just about over. Besides, Derek and I have some shopping to do,” the Sheriff says, rising from his chair and stretching. A few loud cracks can be heard, causing Stiles to wince. Derek is certain Stiles is worried about his father eating healthy, and just his health in general, unable to monitor him.

          “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure we get healthy ingredients,” Derek whispers to Stiles.

          “Hey! I heard that!” the elder Stilinski says in protest, letting out and indignant huff.

          “No, no,” Stiles starts, waving a hand at Derek. “We have an arrangement in the Stilinski household. Major holidays are like cheat days, he can eat whatever he wants, alright Derek?”

          “Got it, no rules on healthy food,” Derek laughs, turning to the Sheriff and being surprised to find a friendly arm thrown over his shoulders.

          “So, you know any grocery stores around here son?” the man asks, Derek nodding. “Good, we’ll head there now and I can store it in your freezer. Bye kid, love you. See you tomorrow.”

          “Bye Stiles,” Derek says, wishing he could add more to that, but consoling himself with the knowledge he’ll get to spend the next day with Stiles. Stiles bids them farewell and the men exit out to the parking lot, discussing recipes and what they’ll need to buy.

* * *

 

          The shopping trip is, to put it mildly, a disaster. Derek is so nervous to be spending an inordinate amount of time with Stiles’ father again he keeps knocking things over, forgetting his words, having to go back five aisles to get something he missed twice. The Sheriff, for his part, seems mildly amused by the whole thing. They’ve talked before, and no matter what he may think of him, right now he’s nothing but polite to Derek. If he chuckles a little at Derek’s awkwardness, it’s out of sympathy, not annoyance or malice.

          “Derek…” the older man warns, watching a little old lady scurrying away from Derek.

          Turning with downcast eyes, Derek eventually looks up. “Yes?” he asks tentatively.

          “Did you just scare that woman away from the turkey?”

          “It was the last one!” Derek protests.

          “Just please tell me you didn’t use fangs?” he asks, receiving no answer from Derke, who just shuts his eyes and hands the turkey to the Sheriff. “What am I going to do with you?” he asks, shaking his head and rubbing at his eyes, pulling the cart down another aisle. “You’re just lucky she didn’t have a heart attack.”

          “I wasn’t that scary,” Derek interjects.

          “Sure, big, surly werewolf baring his teeth, not scary in the slightest,” he scoffs, clucking his tongue.

          “Do you want me to go apologize?”

          “How exactly would that work now Derek?”

          “I have no idea to be honest.”

          “Then let’s just let this be a lesson. Next time we invite you to Thanksgiving dinner, don’t terrify little old ladies to get a turkey.” They both stop for a moment, looking at each other and knowing, without saying anything, that it was an odd thing to say. Would Stiles still be around next year at this time? Would they even want Derek there if he was? Neither knew, so they let it go, walking towards the checkout lanes.

          “Um I… I need to take my break,” the kid at the register says, running off right as they reach the front of the line.

          The Sheriff just gives Derek a look, mutters “I’m not even going to ask,” and leave sit at that as they wait for a new server to come help them. Once they check out, they pile everything into Derek’s car and head to his place, leaving everything in his kitchen. “Ok, well, I’ll be here early in the morning to start cooking. Normally I’d do the turkey the night before and get it ready, but we’ll have so many other things to do tomorrow we’ll have to do it in the morning, alright?”

          “I can get it started tonight if you like?” Derek offers, not sure what else to say really.

          “Wouldn’t that be a lot of trouble? Do you even know how to cook a turkey?”

          “I have the internet,” Derek shrugs, pointing to his tablet lying on the counter.

          “Fine, but this is a big deal Hale. Stiles loves his turkey, so you better make it right,” he warns, pointing a finger at Derek as he heads to the door. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

          “See you then Sheriff,” Derek says, waving the man away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. So... Things really got away from me for a while. I'm really sorry this update took forever and wasn't actually them at Thanksgiving, but I realized there needed to be a bit of set up for that first. Anyway, I've been very busy with a variety of things, from Roleplaying, to legit IRL problems so that's why this update took forever. I will try to get at least another chapter done this week if I can, and possible one for another of my works on here, but no promises.
> 
> As always, a huge thanks to all my Wonderful Readers for the kudos, comments and subs, they mean a lot.
> 
> As usual, [here](http://www.wolvesofinnistrad.tumblr.com) is my tumblr. 
> 
> Also, if you'd like to see what's been eating so much of my time, you can head [here](http://www.silverlakestates-rp.tumblr.com) to see the RP on Tumblr I am a mod for.


	17. Turkey Legs, Cranberry Sauce & Bribery

          Derek’s tablet is sitting in butter. Really he isn’t sure how it happened, one moment he was reading an article on proper roasting technique, then he was moving to grab a pan to start melting some butter and partway through getting the giblets removed he turned to see the oily mess covering part of the screen.

          “NO!” he shouted, eyes flashing blue as he ran towards the tablet, pulling it out of the gunk and wiping ti with paper towels. It seemed salvageable, but he was going to have hard time reading the res tof the instructions. That’s when he decided to just watch a video tutorial, which is how, at 3 a.m. on thanksgiving morning Derek Hale came to yell at a chef on youtube from halfway across the room for going too fast.

          “Stop! I haven’t even got the neck fat off yet and you’re already onto the stuffing!” Derek shouts at the tablet, fingers smeared in grease and other foodstuffs, unable to go over and click anything on it, trying to simply hurry up and get caught up with the man. “Stupid impressive chefs, think we are all experts at pulling organs out of things,” Derek mutters, then looks up, laughing a bit. Stiles would have loved that, made a joke about it. Soon enough, Derek could see Stiles, long fingers reaching in to pull out the innards of the turkey, whining when he couldn’t do it. Or licking cranberry sauce off a spoon as he laughed at Derek running around the kitchen. It was a nice thought, a happy one, and it got him through the stress of it all. He knew this had to be perfect, for stiles. Especially since the very real truth of the matter was that it might be his last thanksgiving, so Derek wanted to go all out.

**Derek:** What kind of pie do you like?

_Sent: 4:15 am, Nov 27_

                                                                                                                **Stiles:** it is 4 in the morning what are you doing?

_Sent: 4:20 am, Nov 27_

**Derek:** I’m baking.

_Sent: 4:22 am, Nov 27_

                                                                                                               **Stiles:** Omg!

                                                                                                                **Stiles:** Are you using a little werewolf oven?

_Sent: 4:28 am, Nov 27_

**Derek:** No, a regular one Stiles…

_Sent: 4:31 am, Nov 27_

                                                                                                                **Stiles:** This is like, a Thanksgiving miracle!

_Sent: 4:32 am, Nov 27_

**Derek:** Come on, just tell me what you like.

_Sent: 4:34 am, Nov 27_

                                                                                                               **Stiles:** Well my favorite is Grandma Stilinski’s pie recipe,

                                                                                                                **Stiles:** But that can’t be given to anyone but family.  Top secret.

                                                                                                             **Stiles:** And unfortunately I doubt my dad can make it.

_Sent: 4:35 am, Nov 27_

**Derek:** Second favorite?

_Sent: 4:35 am, Nov 27_

                                                                                                                **Stiles:** Pecan pie!

_Sent: 4:36 am, Nov 27_

**Derek:** Then that’s what I’ll make

_Sent: 4:37 am, Nov 27_

                                                                                                                **Stiles:** Wow… Thank you Derek

_Sent: 4:37 am, Nov 27_

**Derek:** You’re welcome. Get some rest Stiles.

_Sent: 4:39 am, Nov 27_

                                                                                                              **Stiles:** Goodnight Der.

_Sent: 4:41 am, Nov 27_

          White motes float in the air, flitting to and fro and falling mostly, it seems, from the eyelashes and hair of one Derek Hale. “Why did I try to make a pie crust from scratch?” he laments, one hand coming up to his head, only smearing more flour across it. The discarded pecans lay strewn about the floor like a field of landmines, Derek’s werewolf reflexes coming in handy when he slips and slides over them with each step. By 7 am Derek has the pie ready, even though he hasn’t actually baked it. The turkey is in the oven, basted every once in a while when Derek hears the little clock he set on his phone to check it. He’s so tired he almost doesn’t hear the knock on the door.

          Sluggishly he stands up, eyes blinking wearily as he trudges to the door, feet scuffing the hardwood. “’Llo?” he says, pulling open the door only to be pushed aside by the Sheriff, looking quite different. It takes Derek a moment to realize why, finally settling his tired eyes on the sweater and pants combo that is decidedly not his sheriff’s uniform. “John?” he asks, finally speaking words as the other man scurries about the kitchen, heedless of his calls. “John!” he beckons again.

          The sheriff turns back, towel hung over his shoulder and turkey baster raised like a weapon. “We don’t have a moment to lose, let’s get going Hale!” he tells him, chipper smile creasing his face as he sets to work, dragging Derek along for the ride.

          As the afternoon light seeps in through the window, John looks over at the man he knows has fallen in love with his son, slouching into a couch cushion, one hand clutching his phone, waiting, evne in sleep, for the timer on the turkey to go off. For all his talk of making this the best Thanksgiving possible, he thought he might scare Derek off, but in reality he isn’t sure Derek isn’t even more determined to make good on his promises to Stiles. With a confident stride, he comes to stand in front of the man, prying the phone carefully from Derek’s fingers and laying it on the counter on vibrate. “You’ve done enough, get some sleep son,” he says, grinning lightly.

* * *

 

          The gently wafting smells of pie, turkey and a cornucopia of foods wakes Derek from his slumber. “Huh, wha- the pie! The turkey!” Derek shouts, jumping up from the couch, only to have a hand pull him back down.

          “It’s already done, don’t worry,” the sheriff informs him, smiling contentedly as he sips some tea.

          “I… I fell asleep?” Derek asks, noticing the phone on the island.

          The sheriff nods, smirking a bit. “That you did Hale. You did lot of work to make this a special day for my boy, I thought you deserved a rest so you could, you know, actually stay awake through dinner and not pass out in the gravy boat,” John tells him, eyes crinkling at the edges from laughter.

          A faint smile pulls at the edges of Derek’s lips, lifting almost imperceptibly into a smile. “Thank you. Sir.”

          “No, thank you. Without you none of this would be possible. Now, once you get woken up and changed we’ll pack this all up and head over to the hospital.”

          “Changed?”

          “You don’t think I’m letting you go to Thanksgiving dinner in a leather jacket and blue jeans do you?”

          Derek feigns embarrassment, but in reality it’s nice to know someone cares about his appearance at an event. He’s not sure why, but it feels like when his parents scolded him to get washed up for dinner and that warms a spot in his heart he hadn’t realized was cold for too long. He traipses off to get dressed, returning clad in slacks and a button down, tie and all.

          “Now, that looks like a real outfit,” John says happily, handing Derek some containers to get ready. They work in companionable silence, and for the first time in many years, Derek feels like he has a lot to be thankful for tonight.

* * *

 

          “Oh no, you can’t bring all that in here,” Nurse Nancy says as Derek wheels an entire tray of food down the hospital hallway, escorted by the Sheriff. The men both begin to complain, almost drowning each other out, before the woman raises a hand. “You didn’t let me finish. You can’t bring that in here… Unless I can steal a plate.” So with a bribe of one slice of turkey and some cranberry sauce the men waltz through the hospital, moving to Stiles’ room.

          If Derek wasn’t already in love with Stiles, the way his eyes light up when he sees them come through the door would have made him fall. It’s been a good day they find out, Stiles’ strength holding fast for now, for this at least. Derek sits on one side and the sheriff the other, assuming their formal positions as Stiles keeps stealing glances at Derek.

          “What? What, did I get food on my shirt already?” Derek asks, voice pitched in a bit of a whine as he inspects his shirt.

          Stiles just snickers for a moment, fingers playing with his cutlery as he watches Derek squirm. “No, it’s just, ever seen you all dressed up Sourwolf,” he laughs, and it’s bright, genuine and clear as a bell.

          “You should thank your dad, he told me I wasn’t allowed to wear my jacket here.”

          “You told him he couldn’t wear the jacket? That’s harsh daddi-o.”

          “If I have to wear this godawful sweater he can be bothered to wear a tie,” John snarks back, beginning to set out their meals.

          “I think you both look very nice,” Stiles adds, smiling between the both of them. It’s soft, private, and though Derek knows it isn’t just for him, that it’s shared between him and Stiles’ father, somehow that makes it all the more important. All the more real to be reserved for only them, in that moment. “And really, thank you, both of you.”

          “It was nothing, no trouble at all,” Derek says, coughing a bit at his own ridiculous lie. John has a wry smile, lips parting in anticipation of a sure to be embarrassing comment for Derek, but it’s Stiles who interrupts.

          “Good, I don’t want to be a bother,” Stiles says, and it’s meant in jest, but it comes out all too real.

          “You’d never be a bother,” Derek says, getting looks form both Stilinski’s like his head just fell off. “Ok, you’re an incredible pain, but you’re our pain,” he adds, and that gets a smile out of them both.

          “And don’t you forget it… Ever,” Stiles says, only the barest hint of melancholy in his voice.

          As the three men sit and share their meal, Derek finds he can’t stop staring between both of them. It’s such a private moment he feels an intruder amongst them, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. But then, just as he overthinks and overanalyzes, stiles will whip around to send a biting jab or murmured joke at him and he belongs again. Because tonight, for this night, Derek has family. Sure he misses Cora, the pack back home, but for tonight there’s nowhere he’d rather be than in a hospital, eating pecan pie, watching reruns of the parade, and sharing what could be the last holiday Stiles gets as not just an outsider, a guest, but as someone who belongs there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa! 
> 
> So yeah, a 6 month wait between updates is never good and I'm incredibly sorry about that. On the plus side, this update is themed and timed exactly to coincide with the actual holiday! 
> 
> As always,t hanks to everyone who has stuck with this story from the beginning. I'm not having the greatest of times right now in my private life (about to be homeless actually) so this might be my only update for now, but I hope to get things worked out soon and be able to have more time to get back to these amazing universes I love so much and sent so much time on. I'm thankful for all of my Wonderful Readers and all their comments, kudos and subs!


	18. The End of the World as We Know It

          The next few days are good days, Stiles’ health almost seeming to make a recovery.  Derek can still sense that sick smell creeping up on him, feels time running out, slipping through his fingers; but his eyes refuse to believe.  He ignores it all, focuses on Stiles’ smiling face, his pointed humor, that special laugh saved just for him.  He says a lot of stupid things, the sickly boy never missing a beat, always goading him to fits of embarrassment or heatless aggravation.  It’s nice, it’s normal, or as normal it gets when you’re a werewolf hopelessly in love with a seemingly terminal human.

          His father had been human, married into the pack, but never chose to be turned.  His mother knew the risks, on both sides.  Sure he wasn’t the strongest physically, could barely control Laura the first time she shifted and he was alone with her, Talia Hale off on business brokering peace with another pack.  None of that mattered though, because to Derek there was only one person as strong as his mother, and that was his father.  He’d never met another human so powerful, so headstrong, so interesting, not until Stiles.  Sure Allison was stronger physically, the Sheriff wiser, Melissa kinder, Chris more experienced, but for pure indomitable will, no one beat Stiles.

          Sometimes Derek wondered why Stiles gravitated to Batman so much, when he was always a Green lantern in Derek’s mind.  A soft smile broke out on his face, fingers flexing unconsciously, searching for Stiles of their own accord.

          “You ok Der’?” Stiles murmurs, eyes hooded, sleep pulling him down.

          Derek looks up, a bit startled, having though Stiles had already fallen asleep.  It was getting harder to tell nowadays, his heartbeat not as strong, the familiar patterns changing even faster than Derek’s wolf sense could keep up with.  “No, it’s nothing Stiles,” he says, lips still turned up at the edges.

          A sleepy smile spreads over Stiles’ face like the ocean at high tide, eyes glinting like the moon. “Nothin’, really?”

          “Nope, nothing at all,” he laughs, and it’s a soft laugh, cottony and light, something he never thought he’d hear again out of himself after the fire.  They’d changed him, all of them, not just Stiles.  Scott who respected him now, Cora who had returned, Lydia who saw in him a kindred spirit of hidden depths, all of them brought him forward in his life, built him back up from the crumbling mess he’d been.  Being an Alpha wasn’t what he’d wanted, what he wanted was pack, and now he had it.  The only problem was it had taken him too long to realize there was one thing he wanted just as much.

          “Sure, wh’ever,” Stiles mumbles groggily, eyes slipping back shut.  His hand lands next to Derek’s, pinky just barely edging into the older man’s palm.

          Ducking his head, a reddish blush floods his cheeks, eyes glancing form Stiles’ dozing face, to the stray finger.  Slowly he scoots his hand, knuckles scratching against the starched bed sheets until Stiles’ hand is fully in his own.  “Goodnight Stiles,” he says.  Bravery catches hold of him and with werewolf speed, but a sweetness normally accorded to a puppy, he sweeps in, placing a quick kiss to the boy’s head before exiting the room silently.

          “Goodnight Derek,” Stiles whispers once he’s heard the wolf leave, small smile returning to his face as he drifts off.

* * *

 

          The good days don’t last, moving Stiles to another room, this one occupied by more than one person, doesn’t do him any favors.  The Sheriff is furious, but can’t fight it since he can barely afford to keep Stiles’ in the hospital as it is.  Derek on the other hand has no qualms about throwing money around, not for a man he loves, a family he loves.  Soon Enough Stiles is back in “his” room, eyes staring unblinkingly out of the window as he sits in his bed.  The days haven’t so much been a rollercoaster, but a slow decline, Stiles falling further and further into his sickness, his old scent now completely eclipsed by the foul odor of disease.  His pale, freckled continence now pallid and ghost white.

          One night Derek walks past the sheriff on his way in, hands trembling as he exits that same broom closet he’d been in before and Derek knows.  Nurse Nancy clues him in, not that he couldn’t already tell, not that, deep in his heart, he didn’t expect this day to come.

          “Won’t make it to Christmas they say,” Nancy says, dabbing at her eyes with a napkin from the cafeteria.  “I was rooting for him, you know that? A boy like him? So full of life, so much potential.  I thought, I thought he’d be too stubborn to d-“

          “It’s ok, it’ll be ok,” Derek cuts her off, not sure where the words are coming from; likely some realm of shock that he’s unable to process.  He sits there for a while, consoling her as his own mind goes blank, no thoughts of the future, or the past, not even the present, letting himself slide into a despair he knew not before.  The immensity of the situation only hits him later, the fleeting sense of Nancy’s fingers as her grip lessens, slipping away from him, the same way Stiles was.  The same way everything he loved did, through his fingers and into the ground.

          Standing on wobbly legs, the clatter of footsteps, of heart monitors and the din of staff falls away.  A pregnant silence washes over him, world monochrome and air stale and lifeless.  His feet trudge on of their own volition, a course he can't bear to walk, but could never abandon.

          A solitary brown door stands between him and the end of all things.  Derek almost laughs at the sick absurdity of it.  The last time a door separated him from dying loved ones, it took every ounce of strength not to burst through the door.  Now, in this moment, it took everything just to turn the handle and step across the threshold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so this story has been going for three years now. Not sure how many of you are still reading from the beginning, but I thank all my Wonderful Readers for your comments, kudos and subs!
> 
> Good news and bad news! Good news, this is the last chapter to be written, which means we now start the final leg of the journey with the chapters I've had written for almost two years now to end this monster. The bad news, that means there are only a few more chapters left. While this won't be the longest fic I've ever written, it'll certainly be the one that took me the longest to finish and sort of feels like a bit of a culmination of sorts. At the same time, i feel as if it signals a rebirth. Things in this world are never what we expect, when one thing finally goes right, another goes wrong, but I've learned you can't wait for the good through the bad, you need to seek it out yourself, need to keep your head up and march forward. With that I'd like to say that I will be trying to get to all of my writing in the coming months, finishing any stories I have started and maybe finally getting to some of the ones I've never published or brand new ideas in themselves, with new pairings.
> 
> So, once again, thank you all, and expect to see a new chapter either this weekend or in the coming week. :D


	19. Last Chance

          The second he steps through the door he's hit with the pungent smell of death.  It clogs his airways, nearly gagging on it, wading through it as he looks towards Stiles.  The boy looks back, almost through him; eyes glassy, lips struggling to form words as Derek approaches.

          “Derek… Derek, I’m not getting better, am I?” Stiles asks, voice tinny and small, like a bad connection.  His eyes look back, blank and emotionless, but Derek can see the coming storm of sadness lurking at the edges, waiting to consume him.  He gulps, takes in deep, gasping breaths, lungs starving for it like a drowning man.  And he is drowning; in despair, in love, in his inability to do anything to save the man he loves.  Finally, with a pained whine caught in his throat, he nods.  Short, simple, direct; classic Derek.

          Stiles makes a choked noise, feeble hand reaching up to clutch at his temples, trying to card through long ago shorn hair.  Those lips, those gorgeous lips, now dry and cracked, tremble as his eyes well up.  “Derek…” he moans, short and high, more like the keening of a dying animal than anything Derek’s ever heard from him.  It cuts to the soul, forcing his own eyes to tear up, grip on Stiles’ hand getting too tight, too painful, even for him.  “I don’t wanna' die Derek…  I don’t want to die, please?”

          “What can I do? What do you want?” Derek asks, leaning in closer, close enough to feel each shaky breath from Stiles.

          “Call Scott… Do it,” he moans, pulling his hand free and offering it.  This is it, Stiles has hit rock bottom.  His hands hangs limp in the air, wrist proffered and on full display.  Derek imagines it’s Peter’s talk, his insistence on the wrist that makes Stiles use that gesture.  It hurts Derek to the core, his tongue tasting salt as the tears roll over his lips.

          With tremulous hands, Derek reaches for his phone, fingers fumbling over the cracked screen, but hitting the right buttons eventually.  The ringing is torture, waiting, waiting for Scott, the Alpha, the True Alpha, to answer.

          “Hello? Derek, where have you been we had an attack by pixies last week a-“

          “Shut up Scott!” Derek rages, not mindful of what flimsy feeling of danger they might have had, nothing is as dire as this, his reason for calling.  “Scott! You need to get here right now. You need to come,” he says, before rattling off the information about where they are, how to get there.

          The other end is silent for a moment, Scott drawing out his answer, likely confused by the amalgamation of anger and sadness in Derek’s voice.  “Why? What’s happening Derek?” the young man asks, voice getting calm and clear, his Alpha instincts kicking in.  Derek looks to Stiles, Stiles who can just barely hear what’s going on through the speaker phone.

          He gets a small nod, near imperceptible but there, so he goes ahead.  “Stiles… Stiles is dying Scott. And if you don’t get here and give him the Bite soon, he’ll die. Now please, hurry…” he trails off, not waiting for an answer and ending the call.  Eyes travel back up to the man in the bed, looking weak and terrified.  “It’s going to be ok Stiles… It’s going to be ok.”  He nuzzles into Stiles’ neck, not even caring what that might mean for either of them, just needing to comfort him, reassure him.

          “I know…” Stiles says, faint but clear, and Derek pulls back, nods along like it will be when he’s honestly not sure Scott will get there in time.  “I know…” Stiles says again, with emphasis, and Derek gets it, the spinning wheels click and he gets an ashamed look on his face.  “It’s ok Derek,” Stiles offers, taking his hand.  “I… I feel the same, I think.” It’s mumbled and barely intelligible, but to Derek it sounds an awful lot like a confession, an affirmation.

          “I love you Stiles!” Derek blurts out, receiving a weak smile in return.

          “I know,” Stiles replies, grinning as best he can.

          “Don’t Han Solo me Stiles.”

          “Fine… Love you too Der’.”

          That’s how, under the harsh hospital lighting, eyes bloodshot and cheeks tear stained, they share their first kiss.  Full of passion and need and want, tinged with melancholy, regret, longing, hope.  Derek pulls away, and it’s like the air has become thin, far too little, not enough to keep him afloat.

          “Scott’s not going to make it in time, is he?” Stiles finally inquires after a while, eyes drying and set, firm and stoic.

          “No… No I don’t think he will,” Derek regretfully answers, feeling his heart lurch into his stomach.

          Stiles looks thoughtful for a moment, biting his lip. “Take me away Derek? Please, I don’t… I can’t die here, not in the hospital, not like my m- my mo-…” Stiles stutters out, unable to finish the sentence.

          With a determined look, Derek stands, crosses to the door and shuts it, making sure it’s locked.  Then heads to the window.  He thanks whatever higher power there is that Stiles is only on the second floor.  He can make that jump, it’ll be hard carrying someone else, but he can do it.  Heading back, each footstep like walking to the gallows, he stops at the bed.  “Which ones will beep if I take them off?” he asks, pointing at the IVs, wires and patches hooked to Stiles all over.

          The boy points them out, and Derek slowly removes the others first, taking his time so as not to cause the man he loves any more pain.  Then he heads to the little closet, grabbing Stiles’ jeans and his favorite red hoodie.  After helping him into the pants, causing them both to blush a bit, Derek carefully gets rid of the other IVs and wires, immediately receiving a chorus of beeps and alarms from the machines.  Stiles gets his hoodie on and receives Derek’s phone before being slung over his shoulder as they jump outside.  Derek starts running, with Stiles looking up at him confused.

          “Why the phone?” he croaks out, glancing between his hand and Derek’s face.

          “Call your dad… I thought you’d want to,” Derek responds, focusing on running and not the awful sigh that escapes Stiles.  He blocks out the conversation, not something he should hear.  The last goodbye between father and son.  By the time Stiles is done, he’s even more a wreck, having essentially hung up after about 15 minutes while the Sheriff was speeding towards them.  Derek didn’t think he’d make it, or Scott, but he had hope.

          Brambles and branches whipped at his legs and arms as he ran past, doing his best to shield Stiles from them.  He’d been running on instinct, finding the nearest forest and treading deep into the heart of it.  Finally, reaching a small clearing, he laid Stiles on the verdant grass.  The lush smell of the forest was stifled by Stiles’ scent, all decay and pain and salty tears.  “Is there anything I can do? Anything?” he asks, wanting to at least make Stiles’ last hours comfortable.

          “Just sit with me, until the e- Until the… You know,” Stiles finally breathes out, still unwilling to face what’s coming.

          “Ok, ok Stiles…” he says, holding him in his arms.  They sit like that for a long while, Derek holding him close and just murmuring, talking non-stop like Stiles normally did, but didn’t have the energy for.  Eventually Stiles’ breathing became shallower, harder.  Derek’s tears started streaming as he piled on the words, spilling his heart, what he’d thought about Stiles when they’d met, how they’d grown closer, the good times and the bad, the moment he realized he was in love with him, he left nothing out.  Stiles, for his part, was silent, but had a contented smile on his face, hearing Derek’s soothing words.  Slowly though, the smile began to fade, and his heart started to slow.

          “Stiles… Stiles?” Derek asked, feeling the body going limp, as if his essence was draining away as they sat, which it was.  He roared, deep and loud, fangs and fur sprouting instantly. Stiles was dying and there was nothing he could do.  He’d never regretted giving up his Alpha spark, couldn’t even now when it had saved Cora’s life.  Yet still, he wished, just for this moment, to be that strong again.  To be able to give that gift one last time, to the man he loved, the man who didn’t deserve to die.

          A guttural growl was ripped from him, eyes flashing blue.  Then, unbeknownst to him, they rippled. Red seeping in slowly, crimson and gunmetal swirling around, mixing, combining.  Even though he knew it wouldn’t work, even though he wasn’t an Alpha, Stiles was dead and his wrecked mind saw only one last, desperate chance.  Fangs bared, he clamped down hard on the boy’s shoulder.  When he opened his eyes, tears streaming from them, they were a livid purple.

          He knew it wouldn’t work, could sense Stiles slipping faster, breath halting and shuddering, heart slowing to a crawl.  “Please Stiles… please don’t go. I love you, please,” he begged, not sure what to do.  Their bodies rocked together, Stiles cradled in his arms, and a memory came flooding back to him, distant and repressed.  “Please, not like Paige… not like Paige, not like Paige. Not Stiles, please…” he pleaded with the forest, the sky, anything that would listen.  He wasn’t sure he could bear having another love die in his arms.  Then again, he couldn’t leave Stiles, would never do that, not when there were only scant moments left.

          The sounds of the forest and gentle autumn air blanketed them, ushered Stiles off as everything slowed, ebbed away, until he took his last breath.  A long, low whine erupted from Derek then, birds and animals scattering, fleeing hither and thither to escape the wretched sound.  “Stiles…” he whispered, kissing his forehead and rocking, never ceasing the rocking of the man in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I'm crying. I wrote this over a year ago and it still gets me reading it tonight. 
> 
> As always, thank you to my Wonderful Readers for the subs, comments and kudos!
> 
> There's only one full chapter left, what will happen? Well, you'll have to stick around to see the final conclusion.


	20. Rise

          Scott arrived only moments after the sheriff, confused and worried, rushing into the hospital.  Mr. Stilinski sat in a chair, bawling his eyes out.  Police and orderlies were swarming around a room and Scott rushed forward.

          “Stiles? Stiles! No, Stiles!” he shouted, eyes flaring scarlet as he pushed through the crowd.  Breaking through he found… nothing.  No Stiles, no Derek, just an empty bed.  He spun around, careening into the hallway and skidding to a stop next to the sheriff.  “Where are they?”

          “I don’t… I don’t know son,” Mr. Stilinski said, shaking almost uncontrollably.  Their eyes meet and, for the second time, Scott truly realizes how lost they’ll both be without Stiles.  The son who’s all the sheriff has left, the best friend who’s more like a brother to Scott.

          Scott’s arms reach out, hugging Mr. Stilinski tightly, before he stands, looking around.  “Wait, I… I think I caught their scent.”

          “What?” the sheriff asks, still unaccustomed to hearing things like that, even after all these years.

          “I smell them.  I can follow them, come on,” he says, dragging the older man out of his chair and storming off.  His eyes stay red the entire time, tracking the scent out of the building and to the lot.  “Get the cruiser, I’ll sniff them out while you drive.”

          The sheriff runs back to his car, pulling up next to Scott in only minutes.  They head out, Scott’s head dangling from the window as he tries to catch their scents, hard to determine, but there.  “I can’t really smell Stiles, at least, not really. I can smell Derek though, and if Stiles is missing, I can bet you he’s with him,” Scott says, forcing a weak smile.  He wants to reassure the sheriff that things are going to be okay.  If he can just get to Stiles in time, give him the bite, something he’s only done once before, and never on purpose, then Stiles can make it.  At least he hopes.

          On the ride Scott gives directions, explaining about the Bite to the sheriff so he’s knows what’s going to happen.  The older man doesn’t like it, but he’s willing to do anything to save Stiles at this point.  Having a werewolf for a son is better than no son.  Faintly the sheriff wishes he'd paid more attention at pack meetings they were invited to.  All that time he'd spent chatting with Melissa and Chris,t rading stories about hwo best to deal with their children, when the most important thing should have been learning what he'd need to do if his son, one fo the only humans, ever had to join them. 

          The sirens blare loudly, red and blue lights flashing as cars flee to either side of the road, making way for the cruiser.  Then, the young Alpha's senses lead him in a new direction.  “There!” Scott shouts, pointing out the edges of a forest.  Before the cruiser has even stopped, Scott is bounding out, questing for his friends with the sheriff trailing behind him.  Both stop when they hear a shout, followed by swarms of animals sprinting and flying off in every direction.  He redoubles his efforts, wolfing out fully and finally reaching the clearing.  That’s when he sees them, notices how limp and lifeless Stiles’ body is, how his scent is nearly eradicated, replaced by that of death and sickness.  “No… no.”

          The sheriff arrives moments later, breaking down, falling to his knees, pants stained from dirt and mud.  “Stiles…” he whimpers, hands reaching out, but unable to actually touch the lifeless form of his son.  His only son, dead, slipped away before he could even get there.  “No!” he screams, anguish and deep despair ripping him apart.

          “I tried… I tried…” Derek mumbles under his breath, and that’s when Scott notices the bite mark.  Realizes Derek really did try everything, up until the final, useless sentiment, to save Stiles.  He steps forward, heart breaking with each inch closer he gets to his best friend.  No, not his best friend, the body of his best friend his mind corrects.  The sheriff has stood now as well, coming forward to see Stiles, to take him from Derek.

          Everything is still for a moment, no one wanting to move, to acknowledge this any more than they have too.  Three hearts breaking, shattering into a million pieces.  The enormity of a life ended too short, the tapestry of fate cut short, so man dangling threads.

          And then something happens.

          Stiles’ body shoots up, chest gasping, taking in lungfuls of air.  Eyes fly open, glowing a brilliant gold in the afternoon sun.  The tapestry rewrites itself, new stitches shoring up the old, blank space for a future not yet written, potential still to be fulfilled.

          No one moves, or speaks, not even a breath is pulled in by the other three men.  Finally, after watching Stiles shivering, taking a shuddering breath in and out, Derek speaks.  “Stiles…  How, how are you…?” he asks, astounded at what’s happened.

          The man looks up at him, still clasped tightly in his arms, then stares up at the others.  “Dad? Derek, Scott?” he asks, looking around wildly.  “What… What happened?”

          “You were dead Stiles!” Scott exclaims, cut off before he can say more by the sheriff collapsing in front of his son and pulling him close, Derek relinquishing his hold, albeit reluctantly.

          “Son! Stiles, you’re alive. Thank God you’re alive!” his father cries, holding him close, tears streaking his face.  "Don't you ever do that to me again!"

          “I… I was dead?” Stiles asks, looking for confirmation.  The stunned looks on their faces confirm it, but the last thing he can remember is Derek holding him, being comforted as he felt himself slipping away.

          “Derek…  Did you…  Were you able to give him the Bite?” Scott asks, looking from the wound on Stiles shoulder, up to Derek, small trickle of blood still drying on the corner of his mouth.

          Derek glances at Stiles, then at his own hands, and finally back up at Scott.  “I, I don’t know. I bit him but, but that shouldn’t work. I’m not an Alpha anymore.  Stiles… Stiles are you ok?  How do you feel?” he asks, more worried about Stiles than how exactly this all happened.

          “Yeah I… I feel better than I have in months,” he states, pulling away and kneeling.  With their help, he stands, albeit unsteadily, holding onto Derek’s broad shoulders for support.  “Am I, did you turn me Derek?” he asks, incredulous.  Voice tremulous, but filled with gratitude, adn maybe a hint of awe.

          “We don’t know.  Your eyes glowed gold when you first woke up though…” Scott chimes in, smiling now that he knows his friend is back.  “Can you-  Do you feel anything?  Like, that you could shift, like the wolf is in you?”

          Stiles looks up at Derek with love and thankfulness, then back to Scott with a smirk.  “Not sure, let’s see,” he says, his eyes flashing to a golden hue for a few seconds.  “Was that it? Did I do it?” he asks excitedly, face scanning from one to the other quickly, beaming.

          “Yes you did Stiles.  You’re going to be even more annoying now, aren’t you?” Derek asks, flashing his own eyes back at Stiles.

          “Whoa!  Der, what happened?!” Stiles says, looking up at his eyes in awe.

          “What? What do you mean?”

          “Derek, your eyes are like, purple, not blue, or even red,” Scott states, moving in closer to look.  “I’ve never seen anything beyond gold, red or blue.  This is so weird.” Scott puts a hand out, only for Stiles to smack it away.

          “No!  No touching my boyfriend,” he says petulantly, then realizes what he said, blushing profusely.  “I… I meant, what I meant was.”  He mumbles half apologies and flushes, trying to right himself.  “I mean, sure, sure the things you said were just, you know, b-because I was dying, right?”

          “No. Not a word. It was all true,” Derek says with tenderness, pulling Stiles in by the neck and kissing him passionately.

          “Omigod kissing is so much better now!” Stiles says, stupidly happy.

          “I’m not even going to ask, let’s just, go home, ok?” the sheriff says, rubbing his forehead.  He’d known Derek had fallen for Stiles, that didn't take much detective work, just as he knew Stiles had been harboring a crush for some time.  Seeing it with his own eyes though?  After all that had happened today?  Just too much for one man.  Slowly they trekked back to the cruiser, Stiles taking the front seat with his father, glancing back at Derek every few seconds.

          Stiles keeps flashing his eyes to gold and back, being his same, lovably annoying self.  “Please stop that Stiles, it’s distracting,” Derek says, huffing out a laugh.  HE knew the boy would take to it, Stiles was nothing if not a quick learner.  If nothing else, Peter had always been right about that, Stiles would make an excellent wolf, even if his humanity had been one of the things he cherished.  There would be time later to mourn its passing, to think back and see if there could have been any other way, even though Derek knew, instinctually, that there hadn't been.  For now though, Derek was content to simply let his eyes rest on that smiling face, lips pulled fast into a smile, cheeks reddening with a color long since lost in Stiles' palette.

          “Come on! This is like the second time I’ve died!  At least this time I get actual cool powers out of it,” he snaps back, flashing his eyes a few more times.  “So, is werewolf sex really as amazing as Scott makes it out to be?  Wait, is two werewolves having sex even better?!”

          “Shut up Stiles!” they all yell, and then everyone laughs, feeling things slowly slip back to normal.

          “We’re having so much sex tonight,” Stiles whispers, hoping only Derek will hear.

          “Just because your dad can’t hear you doesn’t mean I can’t Stiles,” Scott laughs, burying his head in his hands.  The sheriff just gives them an odd, long-suffering look before dutifully ignoring whatever it is.  He has his son back, no reason he needs to worry about losing him to surly werewolves who might actually be perfect gentlemen in disguise.  AT the very least, he could do worse than Hale for a potential son-in-law.

          “Whatever, whatever. This is going to be fun,” Stiles says, looking, for the first time in a long while, truly happy.  Derek smiles, not sure what all has transpired, or how it happened, but thankful it turned out the way it did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, ther eyou have it, the final full; chapter of this story! Thank you to all my Wonderful Readers for sticking around even when I had crazy long hiatuses between updates! You'll neve runderstand how much you all mena to me, how much it makes me smile and wamrs my heart to log in and see evena f ew more hits, a kudo, a comment. I truly love any feedback I get adn just love getting to share my ideas and my views on these worlds and these characters with you all and I hope you enjoy them as well.
> 
> THis is one of my biggest forays into true drama, so it was a learning experience all around. I've done sad fics, but none that dealt with such heavy topics, or inspired such a reaction from readers. To all fo those who shared personal stories with me, to thsoe I may have reminded of friends and loved ones in this fic, those who got something deeper, more meaningful out of this, maybe even cathartic in a way; I thank you. Thank you for bringing your unique experience to this and, for a little while at least, allowing me to bring back any good memories. That is such a joy to hear.
> 
> Once again, thank you all so much, I truly hope you have had a good time reading this and that it was worth the wait. The only thing i have left to say is stay tuned for a short epilogue coming soon!


	21. Epilogue

          It’s been a few days since Stiles arrived back in town, greeted the pack, told his story.  Scott had cried for an hour straight when they’d gotten home, had to be peeled off him with werewolf strength by Derek and Stiles together.  That night had not resulted in copious amounts of sex as Stiles had envisioned, but Derek did stay in his bed with him.

          Stiles had been forced to go through a rigorous training regimen devised by the other wolves, who were all insanely impressed by how easily he took to his new abilities.  He was still clumsy and awkward, but the edges had been filed down a bit by his new werewolf senses and agility; so he tripped a lot, but he usually caught himself.  And if he didn’t, well, Derek was usually there to do it for him.

          Derek’s eyes eventually faded back to Blue, the Purple tone seeping out slowly over the next few weeks.  Stiles had made jokes about Derek being a “True Omega” or something, but Deaton had only shook his head and hinted that maybe there had been a sliver of that old Alpha Spark still inside Derek, of which he’d sacrificed the last of it to bring Stiles back from the edge.  Either way, Stiles and Derek felt connected, by friendship, by shared loss, by the Bite, and maybe even by love and fate.

          Now that he was healed, Stiles began looking for colleges, this time for real.  He was a bit late, but that didn’t matter, because he was healthy, he was happy, and for the first time in a while, he was home.  Of course, that didn’t last for long, as he, and to his surprise Derek, got their acceptances to the same college and soon moved.  They got a little shared apartment together that Derek paid for, although he often threatened to kick Stiles out when the new wolf wouldn’t stop teasing him about being his “sugar daddy.” It was all in good fun though, and their love only grew with each passing day, month, year.

          Threats never stopped coming for Beacon Hills, and Derek and Stiles came back often to help, to visit Sheriff and Melissa and Scott, to reconnect with the pack and the shared family they’d made for themselves, but they had their own lives too. Back at their home, one that Derek had bought along with Stiles this time, that they’d picked out together, furnished together, christened together. Nothing ever settled down, nothing was ever easy, but as long as they were together, they knew that there was nothing life could throw at them that they couldn’t overcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put off writing this for so long, even had it half finished in my drafts, but the truth of the matter is I just didn't want this story to be over. It was a wild ride from start to finish, and it's one of my most popular fics and one of the ones that really tested my skills as a writer, as well as gained me a lot of readers. I've enjoyed this ride so much with you all that I didn't want to get off, but the new year approaches, and I feel it's time to finally end it. 
> 
> There isn't some epic story to be told, there's no long overarching plot left. It's just these two idiots in love, and wrapping up their story. I hope you've all had as much fun reading this as I have, thank you for all of your support, all the comments, kudos and subs. To all my Wonderful Readers, have a Happy New Year and thank you for sticking with me!


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